


Maybe I’m Just Human

by sadkittiehours



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cat Ears, Cat/Human Hybrids, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 03:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30082578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadkittiehours/pseuds/sadkittiehours
Summary: Brendon had what was affectionately nicknamed the Missing Link gene. There was a real name for it, but Brendon didn’t know what it was. He was never allowed to look up things about it. He wasn’t even allowed to be on the computer unsupervised, and the television had a parental block on the channels that might have told him more information.Like why exactly it was humans randomly developed prehensile tails and distinctly cat-like ears on the top of their heads. There weren’t many people out there with the gene, Brendon knew. If there were, he’d have met one of them by now, probably.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Jon Walker, Ryan Ross/Spencer Smith, Ryan Ross/Spencer Smith/Brendon Urie





	Maybe I’m Just Human

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was taken off the [ Big God Damn Masterlist](https://fobfics.tumblr.com/post/34177428707/okubyokitsunes-big-goddamn-masterlistpdf/) you can use that link to download the pdf of almost 500 pages of bandom fic.

Brendon knows that after he was born, he almost died. He wasn’t sick or anything—there was nothing wrong with him that would have killed him. It was his parents. As soon as he came out, they realized what exactly he was, and they wanted none of it. The only reason he was still alive, he knew, was because of the midwife that had delivered him at their home. 

She was holding him in her arms, checking that everything was okay, and she heard his parents talking about him. He couldn’t be theirs, how could he be? What had they done to deserve him? His father suggested taking him outside and putting him down like the animal he was. The midwife clutched him harder and stared at his parents hard, saying that if they even tried, she’d call the police. She was part of the community, so she’d know if they did anything to their baby. They reluctantly agreed. 

After seventeen years, Brendon sort of wishes she’d let him die. 

It wasn’t that Brendon didn’t love his life, because he totally did. He liked being alive. He liked music and English class and he liked sitting in the backyard and watching the sky go pale to dark. He especially liked chocolate, even though he wasn’t allowed to have it often, and skateboarding. 

He did not, however, love having to wear a hat every day. It got uncomfortable, and there were plenty of times his teachers yelled at him for not paying attention when he simply couldn’t hear them very well. The best time was winter, because at least then he could wear knit caps, which were easier to hear through. 

He also hated the baggy jeans his parents forced him to wear whenever he wanted to go outside the house. Brendon was always tripping over the cuffs and tearing the bottoms and he had to wear a belt super tight just to keep them up on his hips. He hates how painful it is to sit down on chairs like that. It was uncomfortable and awkward. 

But, it would probably be more uncomfortable and awkward if he didn’t wear the caps and the jeans, of course. Personally, Brendon didn’t think it was that big a deal, but his parents believed that the community at large wouldn’t react positively and so he had to hide. 

Brendon had what was affectionately nicknamed the  _ Missing Link _ gene. There was a real name for it, but Brendon didn’t know what it was. He was never allowed to look up things about it. He wasn’t even allowed to be on the computer unsupervised, and the television had a parental block on the channels that might have told him more information.

Like why exactly it was humans randomly developed prehensile tails and distinctly cat-like ears on the top of their heads. There weren’t many people out there with the gene, Brendon knew. If there were, he’d have met one of them by now, probably. 

Well, those people who wore the cat ear headbands and fake tails didn’t count. Brendon didn’t quite see what was so awesome about being a missing link or why people would want to pretend they had the gene. All Brendon could tell was that having it meant your parents didn’t like you and your siblings weren’t allowed to play with you and you had to hide yourself and you couldn’t make friends for fear that they would find out and tell everyone else. 

Brendon doesn’t know what they told the principal, but he was allowed to wear his hat during class, even though no one else could. He’s pretty sure they told Mr. Daily he was dying. Brendon isn’t dying. He honestly doesn’t see what’s so wrong about being a little different, but he learned not to ask at a young age. 

Every once in awhile, the sermon at Temple will be about people who have the gene, and how it was the Devil showing his presence on the earth. How the children born with the disease—and the Temple called it a disease, not a genetic abnormality—were a testament to the fact their mothers fornicated with the Devil and they were the product. Every time the sermon comes up, Brendon feels his mother stiffen in her seat beside him, and he has to spend the rest of the day in his room, away from the family. 

After so long, Brendon doesn’t really mind, anymore. It used to bother him, when he was a kid. He would never want to wear a hat or the big baggy jeans year round. He wanted to wear shorts and play outside with the neighborhood kids. He wanted to use his tail and ears the way it felt natural for him. 

His mom would spank him if she caught him with his tail or ears out and his dad would yell loud and long and Brendon would cry and spend all day in his room, huddled in the middle of the bed, wishing it was different. 

Slowly, he learned to stop caring so much. He just kept the caps and loose jeans on until he was ready for bed, when he could just be by himself and no one would bother him. No one would get angry if he had his tail out or if his ears swiveled around, picking up the ambient sounds of the house. 

He even stopped caring when his siblings stopped trying to pet his tail and just pretended he didn’t exist. Brendon was good at not existing. 

Sometimes, though, late at night, he’ll sneak out of his bedroom and walk around the neighborhood, knitted cap jammed on his head, tail wrapped around his waist like a furry belt. He’ll look through open windows and hear people laughing and moms telling their kids good night while dads read bedtime stories. He’ll hear giggling and feel love, and he wonders why he can’t have that, too. 

\---

There’s a new teacher in Brendon’s Economics class when he gets to first period. It’s sort of a relief—the substitute teacher that had been with them through the first fourth of the school year was sort of really awful at economics. He just had them fill out worksheets using the book, and Brendon never really learned anything. 

Brendon sits down at his desk in the back of the room, putting his book and things on the desktop. He puts his chin on his hand and looks out the window, not looking away even when the bell rings and everyone shuffles in a sits down around him. 

The teacher introduces herself and calls roll and when she gets to Brendon’s name, he mumbles, “here,” but doesn’t look away from the window and how nice it looks outside. 

“Excuse me,” he hears and looks up. The teacher is standing right next to him, arms folded across her chest, a pinched look on her face. “I don’t recall anything in the rulebook about allowing hats to be worn indoors, Mr. Urie. Did you think you were exempt from the rules?” she asks, ignoring the kids giggling behind her. No one has ever noticed Brendon, not until right now. 

Brendon stares up at her with wide eyes, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He’s never had a teacher tell him to take his cap off. He doesn’t exactly know what to do. “N-no?” he asks, holding onto the desk with both hands, knuckles white from how hard he’s clenching the wood.

She taps her fingers against her arm. “Take it off, young man, or I’ll have to send you to the Principal’s office for dress code violation.” 

He can hear the kids in class whispering about what a hardass she is, and how they already miss Old Mr. Johnson. The teacher ignores them, staring at him impatiently. Finally, Brendon brings one hand to his head and takes his cap off, setting it down on the desktop. His eyes don’t leave hers as she slowly takes him in, eyes getting wider as soon as she notices his ears pressed flat to his head. 

“Oh my God,” he hears a girl whisper from a few seats away. The entire room goes silent and Brendon ducks his head, horrified at having been found out. He peeks up through his bangs, not surprised to see all of his classmates staring at him in varying degrees of horror and wonder and surprise. 

The teacher makes a noise in the back of her throat and Brendon flinches. She turns heel and goes to the front of the room, picking up her teaching book and starting to read, loudly. The class eventually has to start looking forward when she snaps at a boy in the front row to face forward or he would get detention for a week. 

Brendon sinks in his seat, aware that the people in his row are still staring at him. He picks up his cap and jams it down on his ears, not even minding when it hurts a little and muffles the teacher’s voice. 

\---

Word apparently flies in their school, because by lunch time, Brendon has been stared and whispered at more than he ever has in his entire life. Every head in the cafeteria turns to him when he steps through the doors. Brendon just stands there, not sure what he’s supposed to do. He’s definitely not popular, but he can usually manage to sit with the band geeks during lunch. When he looks their way, though, there are no seats available. 

After having the whole school stare at him as he walked through the hallways during the past three periods he figured hiding was stupid, so he’d ripped his cap off and put it in his locker and taken his tail out of his jeans. It actually felt nice to be able to have it out during the day. He hated sitting on it during class. 

His tail twitches and he bites his lip before heading over to the lunch line to get his food. Conversations start up as soon as he passes tables, and Brendon just keeps his head down, cheeks burning with shame. He mumbles his order to the cafeteria ladies and shoves his money in the cashier’s hand, not even looking at her or waiting for his change. 

There’s a mostly empty table near the stage, so he sits down at the end and doesn’t look up from his food once while he eats. He knows everyone is staring at him, but he doesn’t lift his head to look around. There’s no point. 

\---

Brendon spends the next three periods keeping his head ducked and not looking at anyone he passes. He hears people mumble freak when he passes them, but he doesn’t let it affect him. He just keeps his head down. His teachers don’t call on him, don’t ask answers for questions, don’t see if he’s done his homework. 

The last bell rings, finally, and Brendon rushes out of the classroom. He gets everything he needs from his locker before hurrying his way to the parent pickup lane. Everyone seems to part for him, and Brendon would be completely mortified if it didn’t mean he gets to leave sooner. 

He’s not stoked to see his mom’s reaction, but he’d rather not spend any more time here than he needs to. 

His mom is standing beside the mini-van, lips thinned and face ashen. She stares at him for a long, quiet moment before getting into the driver’s seat. Brendon gets in the back and puts his head between his knees for the entire ride home. 

He hadn’t ever taken the bus, which was something he was both grateful for and hated. Brendon knew that people made friends on the bus, sometimes. But his parents were too worried that someone would find out about him if he rode the bus to and from school like his siblings had. 

The ride is silent; his mom says nothing to him. Brendon expected shouting, but he’s glad for the reprieve for now. He knows he’ll want her yelling at him after she refuses to talk to him for a couple days. 

Brendon doesn’t ask how his mom knew—she clearly knew before he walked out the door, so his teacher must have called or the Principal or someone. He doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that everyone knows now. They all know what a freak he is. An abomination. Brendon hasn’t wanted to cry like this in a long, long time. 

\---

They’re in the living room, but no one is talking. His mom is sitting next to his father on the couch, back ramrod straight, staring off into the distance like he’s not even there. His father is staring at the floor, hands folded like he’s praying. Brendon wonders what he’s praying for.

There have been several people at the door and the phone was ringing constantly until his dad took it off the hook and left it like that. No one answers the door.

\---

Brendon really doesn’t want to go to school the next morning. He really, really does not want to go. His mom and dad look at each other and have a conversation with just their eyebrows and frowns and Brendon watches, anxious. 

“It’s Friday, Brendon,” his mom finally says. “You’re not missing school. It’ll be fine.” 

It’s not going to be fine, he’s sure, but he knows she’s not going to listen to any of his arguments. Sighing, Brendon shoulders his backpack and nods. “Yeah, okay.” 

\---

As soon as they pull up to school, Brendon sees the crowd of reporters hovering outside, looking around anxiously. He thanks God that his parents unlisted their address the week after he was born, because he wouldn’t have been able to deal with them being at his house. 

His mom makes a noise from the driver’s seat, like she’s thinking about turning the car right around and going back home. He watches her with wide eyes, hoping that she does just that, but she tightens her hands on the steering wheel and pulls through to the drop-off zone.

Brendon gets out of the van, knuckles white as he holds onto his backpack straps, hoping no one will notice him. He’s got his hood up over his ears, and his tail is tucked away—he’ll take it back out as soon as his mom is gone. He turns and gives her a weak smile.

“Love you, Mom. See you later.” 

She gives him a tight-lipped smile drives away quickly, as soon as he shuts the door. He hears someone say loudly, “There he is!” and he ducks his head, holding onto his backpack straps tighter, ducking his head. He doesn’t want to deal with this. 

“Brendon! Brendon!” he hears shouted at him and when he dares to look up, there are three cameras being shoved in his face. 

He steps back, looking at them with wide eyes. “Um. Can I help you?” he asks, feeling like he’s going to throw up any second. 

A pretty blond lady pushes in front of the cameras and thrusts a microphone right next to his mouth. “Brendon, we have received word that you have been hiding having the Missing Link gene from your schoolmates until you were outed yesterday by a new teacher. Why did you hide for all these years, and why was notified once you were born?” she asks rapid-fire. 

Brendon stares at her stupidly for a few seconds before ducking his head again, pushing past her and the cameras. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles, intent on getting into the school, where they can’t bother him. 

The next thing he knows, someone is pulling down his hood, and it’s like the classroom all over again. He hears gasps from behind him, but he doesn’t turn to look. He just starts running until he’s in the building. Gasping, he slides down a wall and looks out the window, where the blond woman is talking at one of the cameras, making hand gestures in the school’s direction. 

He buries his face in his hands and barely stops himself from crying. His parents aren’t going to be happy when they hear what happened. 

\---

The school day is much like the previous, except for the fact that everyone knows who he is, and he doesn’t have to come back tomorrow. His teachers all ignore him like usual, but it’s not because they don’t realize he’s there—they just don’t know what to do with him. The students all stare and whisper and point at him, like he can’t see them doing it. It’s ridiculous.

After first period, his new teacher pulls him aside, looking vaguely worried. “Mr. Urie,” she says, voice low, aware that some kids are hovering around and eavesdropping. “I just wanted to apologize for my actions yesterday. The principal sent me an e-mail, but I didn’t get it until after lunch.” Her voice lowers. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve caused you. I just wanted to tell you that you don’t have to worry about your grade this semester. It’s the least I can do for you.”

“Thanks,” he says, dazed. Brendon leaves the classroom, almost unsure if that actually happened. He keeps his head down as he walks through the halls, intent on getting to his locker and next class without meeting anyone’s eyes. He knows they’re staring, whispering, but he doesn’t look up. Hopefully, they’ll stop caring, soon. 

\---

At lunch, Brendon sits at the only free table in the middle of the cafeteria. He feels like a freak, like he’s on display; like they put him there on purpose, so everyone could gawk at him. He would have just spent lunch in the library, but that would probably have sparked up more rumors and he didn’t need that in his life right now. 

Someone sets their tray down across from him and he looks up, ears pressed flat to his head. It’s a girl with long brown hair and freckles over the bridge of her nose and a pair of fake ears sitting on the top of her head. Brendon has never seen her before in his life. 

“Hi,” she says sweetly, brushing her hair behind her ear. It makes him look up and stare at the fake ears, completely bewildered. “My name is Janie, I’m a sophomore. I just wanted to say that I think it’s really awesome that you have the ML gene. I totally wish I had it,” she says, pointing to the headband. “I know we’re not supposed to wear them at school, but I couldn’t help it. It’s so awesome that you have it, you know?” 

Brendon’s tail flicks behind him and he honestly doesn’t know what’s going on. “I don’t,” he starts, breaking off when she beams at him. He’s never had a girl smile at him before and it makes him nervous. “It’s not that great,” he finally says softly. 

She frowns at him. “I’m pretty sure it’s the greatest thing, actually. I mean, you get those awesome ears and that tail. Plus everyone knows who you are. Isn’t that great?” 

“I, um. I have to go,” he says, standing up and quickly hurrying away, ignoring the way everyone watches. He has no idea what that was about. He doesn’t want everyone to know who he is. He just wanted to get through high school without anyone noticing him, but now everyone notices him. It’s awful.

\---

Brendon waits until almost every other person has left the school before leaving himself. He’s pretty sure he’s missed the reporters, but there’s no sense not being careful. He’s got his ears and tail hidden because his mom is out there to pick him up, and he doesn’t want her to get any angrier at him than she probably already is. 

He looks around, trying to find the van, but it’s just not there. He bites his lip, worried. Maybe she lost track of time, or figured he got a different ride home when he didn’t show up as soon as the bell rang like he usually does. He stands at the edge of the parent pick-up loop and looks around, but no one’s there. It’s deserted and sort of creepy. 

Sighing, Brendon hitches his backpack higher on his shoulders and sets out to walk. He shakes his hood off, freeing his ears; if he’s going to be walking the two miles to his house, he’s definitely not going to get his ears all gross with sweat. 

Five minutes after he starts walking, a car slows down on his side of the road. Brendon looks over but quickly looks away when he sees someone with a digital in their hand. 

“Hey!” the driver shouts at him but Brendon doesn’t look. “Brendon, c’mon, look this way! How ‘bout I give you a ride to wherever you’re going, huh?” 

Brendon shakes his head and quickens his step, ignoring the way the car keeps up with him. The guy keeps shouting things at him but Brendon keeps his head ducked, his pace steady. Finally, he can’t stand it and he just starts running. 

He learned at an early age that he can run, hard and fast, for a long time if he needs to. It must be some weird thing that comes with being a freak, the ability to run if he feels threatened. He hears the guy in the car curse, but he doesn’t look back, keeps running as fast as he can, just trying to get home. 

Eventually, he loses the car. He sends a prayer of thanks to God and slows his pace. Of course, because of his run, he’s sweaty and overheated and he wants nothing more than to just curl up in his bed and sleep for the rest of the weekend. 

It takes a good twenty minutes to get home, since he takes the path that’s farthest away from the roads, in case that guy is still looking for him. As soon as he walks down the neighborhood, he understands why his mom didn’t come get him. 

There are news vans parked all around his house, a crowd of people standing there and talking to one another. Not all of them are news people, but he sees several cameras and several men and women with microphones. There are even a few police officers, which his parents probably called to make sure no one tried to force their way into the house. 

He stops a few houses, unsure of what he’s supposed to do. Finally, he remember the emergency cell phone he carries in his backpack and he calls his mom’s cell, praying she answers. 

“Hello?” she says, terse. 

“Mom?” he asks, biting his lip and watching the crowd in front of the house. 

She sucks in a breath. “Brendon, are you still at school? I would have come, but there are people at the house and I can’t get out.” 

He knows his dad isn’t going to be happy when he comes home from work. “No, I’m in the neighborhood. I walked home. What am I supposed to do? I don’t want them to see me,” he whispers, as if the people will hear him and come running. 

“What I want you to do, Brendon, is walk through the backyards. I’ll let you in when you get to ours. Be quick, don’t let them corner you.” She hangs up. 

Brendon puts his phone away and goes into the backyard of the house he was hiding by. In his neighborhood, none of the backyards have fences luckily. He stalks through the yards, trying to be fast but quiet so no one finds him. Finally, he’s in his neighbor’s backyard. He sends up a small prayer before flat out sprinting across to his back door. There’s a shout from the front yard, but his mom has him pulled into the house, shades drawn, before anyone can find him.

He breaths heavily, pressed against the wall, staring at her with wide eyes. “I didn’t talk to them, I didn’t. They pulled my hood down, I didn’t let them see on purpose,” he explains quickly. 

She gives him a severe look and nods. “Yes, I saw.” She sounds almost pained. 

“Mom, what are we going to do?” he asks desperately. He doesn’t know if he can do this again, come Monday. 

“We will pray and we will persevere,” she says. 

\---

Brendon spends all of Saturday in his room, pretending the world doesn’t exist. It’s the most emo thought he’s ever had—despite the many setbacks of his life, Brendon is generally an optimistic person—and it just depresses him, but he can’t leave the house, and the stiff way his parents hold themselves whenever he’s in the room is just too uncomfortable to bear. He goes to bed early, willingly, and doesn’t even try to sneak onto the computer when his parents finally head up to their room. He doesn’t want to see what’s on the internet. 

Come Sunday, Brendon actually gets dressed for temple and doesn’t drag his feet. He’s ready to go and sitting at the kitchen table before his parents even get up. His mom gives him a startled look but actually puts a hand on his cheek in an affectionate gesture. 

“It’s okay, honey,” she says softly. “God guides all.” 

Brendon presses his cheek into her touch for a second before she pulls away. It’s the first warm gesture he can remember her giving him in such a long time. “I know, Mom.” 

The eat a silent breakfast and it’s early enough that when they leave the house to get into the car, only one person is out on the street, snapping pictures of them in their Sunday best.

His dad turns on the radio, but shuts it off as soon as the news mentions their name. Brendon slides down in the seat, ears pressed flat to his head in shame. 

When they get to their meeting house, they sit in the car for a few moments, collecting themselves. “We’ll be fine,” his father says, holding onto his wife’s hand. 

They get out of the car as one and head to the building. Brendon keeps his head ducked low, even though his parents don’t. They didn’t make him put a cap on or tuck his tail in, so when they enter the building, people can see. Everyone turns and stares at them, and none of them whisper—they’re not supposed to gossip—but it’s easy to see that they were. 

His father directs them to their pew, and Brendon notices that the Williams and Adams aren’t sitting there like they usually do come Sunday morning. He has no doubts as to why they’re not. 

He keeps his head bowed during the sermon and doesn’t get up for sacrament, even though his mom nudges his side. He knows he’s not welcome to take it with this congregation. When the children all get up to go to the small classroom after sacrament, Brendon stays seated, even though Sister Thomas told him he could help with the littler children last week. 

After temple ends, they don’t stay behind so Brendon’s dad can talk to the other men and his mom can talk to the other mothers and wives. He’s never been particularly popular, so there’s no one who he would talk to, anyways. 

Before they get to the van, Brother Thomas comes out of the building and stops his father with a hand on his arm. “Brother Urie,” he says softly, careful not to look at Brendon. “I think it would be a good idea if you don’t bring your son with you, anymore,” he explains. “Some of the other members are uncomfortable with the thought of him here. I’m sorry.” 

His mother makes a soft, unhappy noise, but his father nods, face blank. “We will take this into consideration, Brother Thomas,” he says before excusing himself and getting into the van. Brendon presses his head against the window and tries not to think on the way back to their house. 

The ride back is as silent and awkward as the ride there, and when they pull into the cul-de-sac, they see even more reporters lying in wait. His father curses loudly, hitting the steering wheel and Brendon jumps. Brendon has never seen his dad get angry enough to be physical but he knows his father is under a lot of pressure. His whole family is. 

“Honey, why don’t you lie down?” his mom asks quietly, looking back at him. 

Brendon nods and takes his seat belt off, lying down across the seats so no one outside the van can see him. He can hear the reporters and photographers outside the vehicle, but they can’t get to him and that’s all that matters. His dad parks the van inside the garage for the first time in forever and Brendon doesn’t sit back up until the garage door is all the way down. 

“You should go to your room,” his father says before they get out of the van. “Your mother and I have a lot to discuss.” 

“Yes, sir,” Brendon says, suddenly exhausted. He goes up to his room and as soon as he shuts his door, he can hear them arguing. “Shit,” he whispers, crawling into bed and hiding his head under his pillow, trying to block out their yelling.

\---

Monday morning, Brendon hides in the van again while his mom drives him to school. It’s ridiculous, hiding, but he’d rather that than have pictures of him taken by the assholes outside his house. 

It’s not fair—Brendon is a good kid. He hasn’t done anything to deserve this. He never wanted to be noticed. He just wanted to get through his life without anyone ever knowing his name or what was wrong with him, but now everybody knows. It’s not fair. 

He’s a little late getting to first period, since they drove around to the back of the school, so he’s not the first one in the room like he usually is. When he gets to his desk, he pauses, confused. There’s a little bag of cat treats sitting on the surface, a happy looking cat on the package. 

“Thought you might enjoy them,” one of the boys in the class says, smirking. The girls in the class giggle while the guys grin or chuckle. 

Flushing hotly, Brendon ducks his head and picks up the container, taking it carefully over to the trash can and throwing it away before going back to his chair. He keeps his head bowed so he doesn’t have to look at the kids around him, all laughing at him. Brendon has a sinking feeling that this isn’t going to be a one time event. 

\---

The rest of the week goes by exactly as Monday did and Brendon can feel himself starting to break apart. He doesn’t know why people think it’s funny to leave toys or yarn or more cat treats on his desk. It’s not funny at all. He’s not a cat, he’s a fuckinghuman being and it’s not right to treat him this way. It’s just not. 

His mom goes into his room on Wednesday afternoon after school and tells him he can stay home since he looks so tired which Brendon appreciates. He isn’t up to sitting in a room with more kids who absolutely hate him for a few hours. 

The reporters have largely stopped hanging around his school and home, which is beyond great. 

Friday afternoon, as soon as he closes his bedroom door, Brendon feels relief settle across his shoulders. He gets into his bed and curls up under the covers, knees pulled up to his chin and tail covering his nose, eyes closed. 

It’s the least restful sleep he’s ever gotten in his life. 

\---

No one wakes him up the next morning, so Brendon gets to sleep in until eleven o’clock for the first time in his entire life. He stretches, joints popping, and heads downstairs, scratching at his stomach. 

His mom is in the kitchen, sipping lemonade from a tea saucer and she looks up when Brendon comes in the room. 

“Hi, Mom,” he says cautiously, walking slowly to the counter to pick up an orange for breakfast. 

He leans against the counter, watching his mom sip her drink while he peels the orange. As he’s eating a section, she sets her cup down and looks at him. 

“Brendon, your father and I have been talking, and we think it would be best if you didn’t accompany us to temple, anymore.” She puts her hand up to stop him from interrupting, not that he was going to. “It’s not that we don’t think you should be there, because we do. But we just don’t think you would be able to concentrate on the teachings if you were trying to hide from sight the whole time.” 

Brendon nods slowly and puts his orange down, suddenly not hungry. “That. I mean, that’s fine, I guess.” 

She picks up her cup but doesn’t drink from it. “We’ve also been discussing your education.” 

“My education?” Brendon asks, confused. “Why does it need to be discussed?” 

“Some of your teachers have called and told us what’s going on with your fellow classmates, and your father and I think maybe you should go to private, boarding school, in one of the eastern states. We heard that there’s a school there for people with…special disabilities, like you.” 

Brendon honestly doesn’t know what to say to that for a few minutes. He stands there, dumbfounded until he finally remembers his words. “Mom, I’m not disabled! Why do I need to go to a special school? I’m fine here. It’s only another year and a half, anyways,” he says.

“Brendon, do not argue with me,” she says, smacking her hand down on the table. “Go back to your room. Your father and I are having the bishop over later tonight.”

“Okay, mom,” Brendon says blankly, picking up his orange and throwing it in the trash on his way out of the kitchen. 

When he gets to his room, he looks around. There’s nothing to do—he doesn’t have a television or computer or even a stereo in his room. There’s an acoustic guitar shoved in the back of his closet, but his parents get mad at him if he plays it, so he usually only takes it out when his parents aren’t home. 

There’s really nothing in his room that shows who he really is. No posters because his mom tells him to take them down, no clothes spread across the floor, no books that aren’t on the Approved List, no CDs that aren’t Christian music, no toys left over from when he was a kid—they all got donated when he reached the age where it would be considered no longer appropriate for him to play with them. The whole room, the whole house, none of it shows that a sixteen-year-old kid lives there. For fuck’s sake, his bedroom looks like a guest room. 

Brendon sits down on his bed and puts his head in his hands, closing his eyes. He doesn’t know how this is his life. He’s done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve this. If this is God’s way of testing him, or punishing him for something he didn’t do, then Brendon thinks he’s better off just not believing in God at all. What good has God done him so far?

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, clenching his fingers in his hair. Brendon isn’t the best Mormon, but he’s never really let himself think that he didn’t believe in God. But, now that he thinks it, he can feel a burden he never knew he even had, lifting off his shoulders. It feels good not to be under the constant pressure of God hanging over him. 

He looks up again, looks at his room, and realizes what he has to do. 

\---

His mom wakes him up before they go to temple. “I left you a plate of breakfast in the oven. You should eat and pray and when we get home, your father and I will talk to you about what we’ve decided.” 

Brendon blinks sleepily up at her before offering her a small smile. “I love you, mom,” he says softly. He says it every day and she always gives him a tight smile in return. 

This time, she offers him a tiny smile in return and smoothes his hair back away from his forehead before pressing a soft kiss there. It’s the first time she’s done it since he was a kid and would get sick. “I love you, too, Brendon,” she says finally. She pulls away and leaves his room, shutting the door quietly behind her. 

He waits until he hears her heels clicking down the stairs and the garage door go up, and then down, before he gets out of bed. Taking a deep breath, Brendon goes to his closet and gets out his duffle and guitar and heads downstairs. He gets a plastic bag and takes non-perishable snacks and fruits, waters and juices to last him as long as he can make them.

Then, feeling horrible about it, Brendon heads into his father’s study and goes through the bottom drawer of his desk, taking out half of the bills from the envelope of money his dad keeps for emergencies. It’s wrong, Brendon knows, but he doesn’t have enough, on his own. Just what he’s saved up over the years from chores he’s done. He takes off his left shoe and puts the folded money into his sock before putting it back on. Brendon’s seen movies and if someone’s going to rob him, they’re not going to get his money. 

Brendon goes back into the living room and looks around one last time. There’s a picture of his entire family—brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews—on the mantel. He touches the corner, of the picture, careful not to smudge any of his family’s faces. There’s nothing more Brendon wants than to take the picture, but he doesn’t. It’ll hurt too much, to see their smiling families and know he’s never going to be able to go back to that again. 

Picking up his duffle bag, Brendon digs out the note he wrote the previous night and puts it on the coffee table for his mom to find after they get home from temple. He shoves a knit cap down over his ears and cinches his belt tighter, so there’s no chance his tail can slip out of his jeans. 

He finally makes himself go to the front door and look out the peep hole. There are no reporters, not that he thought there would be. He steps out of his house for the last time and locks it with the spare key before putting it under the potted plant by the door step. He takes a deep breath and leaves his home behind him. 

\---

Brendon’s first stop after he leaves his sub-division is the bank. He goes inside and takes out every penny he’s ever put in and ducks his head when the lady behind the counter gives him a strange look. After the bank, he heads to the train station. 

He doesn’t want to spend too much since he still has to try to find a place to stay when he gets wherever he’s going, but he wants to get far enough away that no one will know who he is. Looking up at the departure times and fare boards, Brendon takes a deep breath. None of the ticket prices are too cheap, but they won’t leave him penniless. He’ll just have to get a job as soon as he arrives wherever he’s going. 

The ticket to Chicago doesn’t look too bad, and it’s far enough away that no one he knows will think to look for him there. There was a kid in one of his classes in elementary school who had a cousin who lived in Chicago. She said that it snowed all winter and there was a lot of everything, since it was a big city. Brendon wouldn’t mind snow, or the bustle of a big city. He could get lost in it and no one would ever think to look twice at him again. 

A man behind the ticket counter shouts, “Next!” and Brendon steps up, suddenly nervous. “How can I help you, sir?” the man—his badge says Chuck—asks. 

“One way ticket to Chicago, please,” Brendon says, voice shaky. This is the first time he’s ever really talked to a stranger, the first time he’s gone outside of Nevada and the reality is starting to set in. 

“That’ll be two thirty-two seventy-five,” Chuck says, typing something into his computer. 

Brendon takes a pile of folded bills out of his pocket and carefully counts out two one-hundred dollar bills, a twenty, a ten and three ones before shoving the rest in his pocket again. He puts it in the little metal bin at the bottom of the glass divide. “Here you go.” 

Chuck looks down and his brows go up when he sees the money. “Cash, sir? That’s unusual, isn’t it?” Chuck looks up and squints at Brendon, like he’s trying to see something.

“Hey, have I seen you before? Maybe on television?” 

Brendon shakes his head, eyes wide. “Not me, sir. I’ve never been on television.” 

“I see,” Chuck says, staring at him for another second before tearing the ticket from the printer and handing it to Brendon. “Platform seven then, sir. Train leaves in twenty minutes. Have a nice trip, sir.” 

“Thank you,” Brendon whispers, taking his ticket and walking away from the teller quickly. He doesn’t want Chuck to realize who he is and call the police or something on him. Brendon heads to the bathroom first so he can transfer his bank money to his other sock, before searching for platform seven. 

When he finally finds it, people are already boarding the train, so Brendon rushes to get in line. The man at the door punches a hole in his ticket and hands it back and Brendon gets on the train, selecting a seat that’s clear of everyone else. He stores his bag and then sits down, taking a deep breath. 

Looking out the window, he watches as people hug and wave and wipe away tears and he wishes he had that. “Bye,” he says softly, waving to no one. Brendon shakes his head and taps his cheeks lightly at how stupid he’s being. 

The guy that was at the door to the train comes in and starts to say, “Train leaves in five minutes!” as he walks down the aisles. 

Brendon curls closer to the window and watches as the train slowly starts to move along. He watches as it gets faster and faster and he leaves Las Vegas once and for all. 

\---

Chicago is a lot different than the girl from his elementary class said it was. When Brendon finally gets there, it’s raining and the sidewalks are wet with slush. He had no idea it would snow as early as November in Chicago. There’s a sullen looking man selling newspapers and he glowers at Brendon as he walks by. He had no idea the people would be so ill-tempered, either. 

One of the ticket-sellers at the train station downtown had given him a map and told him where a few hostels were that he could stay at for cheap, and a few motels as well. Brendon has never stayed at a motel, certainly never at a hostel, but he has to stay somewhere. 

After a while, Brendon finds the first hostel on his map, but the woman behind the counter tells him he can’t stay unless he has a reservation, which he clearly doesn’t have. She tells him that all of the hostels on his map are reservation-based only. Brendon tries not to be too devastated, but he can’t help it. 

The woman makes a sympathetic face at him. “Sorry, honey. Good luck.” 

Brendon nods and stands at the door, looking out at the pouring rain. 

“Here,” the woman says and comes out from behind the counter with an umbrella in her hand. “Take this. The reports said it wasn’t going to stop raining until late tonight.” 

“Thank you,” Brendon says softly, taking the umbrella. Usually, he wouldn’t, but he hates getting wet and he doesn’t know how long it’s going to take until he finds a place to stay. 

He steps outside and opens the umbrella, grateful that the water isn’t getting on his face anymore. His bag is pretty wet, but it’s lined to keep water out, and his guitar case is hard plastic, so it’s not getting wet thankfully. 

The first motel he goes to has no vacancies but the second one does and it’s not too expensive. Brendon knows that the less expensive a place is, the worse it probably is, but he really doesn’t have any alternatives. He can’t sleep outside, even if it wasn’t raining, so he pays for his room, gets the key from the front clerk and heads to his room. 

As soon as he clicks on the light, a few cockroaches skitter away and Brendon stands there, biting his lip. The room smells a little damp and everything looks dirty, but it’s better than nothing. He sets his bag and case down on the floor and sits on the edge of the bed, taking it all in. 

\---

The next morning the rain has stopped so Brendon pays for another day in his room and goes out to apply for jobs. He knows he’s limited since he hasn’t graduated yet, and he really doesn’t have any trade skills to speak of, but he’s hopeful. There’s a section of fast food places a few blocks away from the motel and that’s where Brendon figures he’ll have the best luck.

After a few hours filling out applications, he goes to the grocery store and buys some water and some cup-o-soup. There’s a coffee maker in his room that he can boil water in to eat.

He still has some food left over that he took from home, but it won’t last him much longer, he knows. 

Brendon wants to go out and look around the city, but he’s so tired and lonely that he just stays in, instead. He wonders what his parents thought when they came home from church and found him gone. It’s already been a whole day since he was gone but no one has called his cell for him. He wonders what they told the school when they got the phone call about him missing class. He wonders if anyone even cares. 

His stomach clenches in the way that means it’s been too long since he last ate and between deciding what he wanted to eat, Brendon falls asleep.

\---

The sound of his cell ringing wakes Brendon up in the morning. He fumbles around for it and answers with a groggy, “Hello?” 

“Hi, is this Brendon?” a cheerful voice asks. 

“Yes, may I ask who’s calling?” he replies automatically. 

“Hi, Brendon! This is Jenna from the Smoothie Hut? I was just looking at your application and I wanted to know when you were available,” she says. 

Brendon feels his stomach tighten. It can’t be this easy; nothing else has been thus far. “Hi, um, anytime, really,” he says, trying to sound casual. “When do you need me?” 

She makes a sound on her side of the line but Brendon still hears her. “How about you come in at three this afternoon and we’ll talk about hours and get you a uniform and set up a day for you to train?” she asks. 

“That sounds great,” he says, voice sounding weak. 

“Good! We’ll see you then, Brendon!” she says and then hangs up. 

Brendon presses the off button and then stares down at his cell phone in wonder. Then he gets up to go talk to the front clerk about reserving his room for a few weeks. 

\---

Working at the Smoothie Hut is not as glamorous as Brendon thought it would be, at first. The hours are long and since he’s not in school, he works most of the day. The customers are shitty and he when he leaves, he always smells like slightly old fruit. 

It’s not the worst, though. His manager, Jenna, lets him take home whatever fruit is too old to use the next day, and any old cookies or sandwiches and he gets a free smoothie every shift, and he never has to take off the hat that comes with his uniform. She’s never come out and asked, but he knows she suspects that he was kicked out of his home. It’s not exactly the truth, but it’s probably better than her knowing he’s just a runaway. 

After he gets his first paycheck, Brendon moves out of the motel and into the tiniest apartment he’s ever seen. There’s a closet-sized bathroom and a stove and barely any room for a mattress in the bedroom/living room/dining room, but Brendon doesn’t care. It’s better than the motel by leaps and bounds and he doesn’t have to be afraid that someone’s going to break in during the night and kill him. 

It takes a few more weeks before he can afford everything he needs to make the apartment a home, but Brendon gets there eventually. No one wants to work from mid-December to the beginning of January, since that’s Winter Break, so Brendon takes the extra hours happily. Extra hours mean he can afford heat and a winter coat, which he didn’t previously have. Walking to and from the Smoothie Hut in just a hoodie isn’t working any more. 

He’s found a Goodwill that he likes, though. They have decent enough clothes that are really cheap and Brendon spends a whole paycheck buying a winter wardrobe there one day but he doesn’t regret it. It gets cold in Chicago in the winter, especially at night. 

Most of the kids who work at the Smoothie Hut are his age, but it’s hard for Brendon to connect with them. They all have families and they always talk about school and friends and Brendon has nothing to say. He knows they don’t want to hear about his apartment or rent or buying clothes at Goodwill. He can’t tell them about Las Vegas and running away, and he especially can’t talk about having the Missing Link gene. 

For some reason, people here are a lot different about that than the people in his hometown. Brendon sees a lot more people wearing the fake ears and tails and no one looks at them twice. He has no idea why it’s so different, here, but he doesn’t want to push it by showing his ears or tail. 

All in all, it’s not a bad life, really. It could be better, but Brendon knows it could definitely be worse. He caught a break, getting his job, and he’s so grateful for it. But when all the Christmas decorations start going up at work, Brendon can’t help but miss his family. There’s a deep ache in his chest whenever he thinks about missing Thanksgiving and whether or not his brothers and sisters are going to stay at the house for Christmas this year. He tries not to think about it, and when Jenna asks him what he’s doing for Christmas, he tells her he’s just going to stay in, have a quiet day off. 

\---

Christmas passes quickly, as does the New Year. Brendon buys himself a tiny fiber optic tree for Christmas and at night he turns it on and lets it glow. He packs it away after New Year’s, though, because it’s too painful a reminder. Jenna pressed a soft purple hoodie into his hands after his shift on Christmas Eve and he let himself hug her for five seconds before pulling away and telling her to have a good night. 

Things get easier, after the holidays. The days pass and Brendon keeps himself too busy to think or miss his family. After a while, it even stops hurting so much, the fact that they never tried to contact him. 

\---

He’s making a strawberry dazzle for a tired looking woman holding onto a small child’s hand when he realizes it’s March thirty-first. He blinks before pouring the smoothie into a cup and the excess into a smaller one for the kid. He hands it to the woman with a small smile and when she leaves, he goes to find Jenna. 

“Hi, Brendon,” she says, smiling when he peeks into her office. She always has a smile, always has a kind word to say to him and Brendon appreciates it. “What can I do for you?” 

He bites his lip, unsure if he should ask but he gathers his courage. “Is it okay if I take tomorrow off?” he asks, fiddling with his apron. 

She frowns. “May I ask why you need it off?” 

“Yeah, um. Tomorrow’s my birthday? And I wanted to, you know. Just hang out. Stay home and maybe treat myself to some take out.” 

Jenna makes a surprised face and nods. “Of course, Brendon. You should have told me sooner so I could have gotten you something,” she admonishes, smiling kindly. 

Brendon ducks his head. “I sort of forgot? Until just now.” He knows she’s probably making that sad face she always makes when he says stuff like that, so he doesn’t look up. 

“Okay, well,” she finally says, sounding strained. “You have a good day off tomorrow, then. I’ll see you the day after.” 

He glances up through his lashes and smiles at her. “Thanks, Jenna,” he says before walking out of her office and going back to the front counter. He still has another few hours before his shift is over. 

\---

Brendon actually does treat himself, the next day. He goes to a pizza place he’d found on accident, and orders a whole veggie lover’s deep dish for himself. He manages to eat almost half of it at the restaurant and takes the rest of it home with him to eat for breakfast the next morning. On his way home, he stops at a bakery and picks up a cupcake and brings it home in a tiny pink box. 

He puts the pink box on his “kitchen” counter and sits down on the tiny red loveseat he found the previous week at a consignment shop. It’s sort of hideous and doesn’t match anything else in the apartment except for his glasses, but Brendon still adores it. Sitting on his mattress all the time, he’s found, hurts his back. 

When it gets dark, Brendon takes the box and opens it, looking at the cupcake. The girl behind the counter drew a heart on the top with pink gel icing and she blushed when she handed it to him. 

He sings happy birthday to himself but he doesn’t have any candles to blow out, so he just eats the cupcake in two bites and goes to bed. He turns seventeen by himself. 

\---

Before Brendon realizes, it’s already summertime. He’s suddenly a lot busier at work since a lot of kids hang out at the Smoothie Hut during the day. Instead of more people being hired, though, more people leave. People he’s spent his entire time in Chicago getting to know are going on senior trips or are moving to different cities for college. It’s weird to think about.

Brendon knows, if he was back at home, he wouldn’t be looking at different colleges like his co workers are. He would have gone to BYU like his parents did and his brothers and sisters. 

Chicago gets a lot hotter than Las Vegas in the summertime. At least, that’s what Brendon thinks, anyways. Las Vegas heat is dry, but Chicago heat is wet and muggy and makes it a lot harder to walk around in baggy pants and a cap. He just wants to wear the cut-off shorts and tight shirts he sees boys walking around in, but he knows better. 

Still, if the heat keeps up like this, he just might melt. 

\---

Halfway through summer, Brendon lets his guard down. He’s taking his break outside, because he just can’t stay inside one more minute. The hotter it gets, the more the fruit starts to smell off and Brendon’s delicate nose can’t take it anymore. 

He watches as a girl walks by with fake ears and he takes a chance. He pulls his cap off and keeps his ears completely still so they look fake. No one takes more than half a second to look at him and Brendon sighs, closing his eyes. It feels a thousand times better with the hat off, now that his ears aren’t so stifled. 

“Hey,” someone says, startling him out of his doze. 

Brendon opens his eyes and looks up, making sure to keep his ears stiff. There is a skinny boy wearing far too many layers and scarves for the heat and a taller boy with tight jeans and a sparkly pink shirt on standing in front of him. 

“How can I help you?” he asks, assuming they’re tourists asking for directions or for some information about the Smoothie Hut. He doesn’t know why people assume that just because he’s got a uniform on, he’s always at their beck and call. It’s a break for a reason. 

The skinny boy narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, looking angry. “I just wanted to say I think you’re a dick for wearing those fake ears,” he says. 

Brendon sits back, eyes going wide. “Um, excuse me?” 

The other kid rolls his eyes and says, “Ryan,” disapprovingly. 

Ryan looks back at the other kid defensively. “What? It’s not like you weren’t thinking it, too. I mean, we know Patrick, and you know how much he hates kids who wear the fake shit. It’s not cool or trendy, it’s just stupid.” 

“Who’s Patrick?” Brendon asks stupidly, not sure what else he’s supposed to say. He honestly doesn’t even know what’s going on. No one’s ever confronted the people who wear the fake ears and tails in front of him, before. He didn’t know people did that. 

Both boys look at him blankly. “Patrick? As in Patrick Stump?” 

Brendon shakes his head; the name doesn’t mean anything to him. 

“Are you serious?” the boy with the sparkly shirt asks. “You don’t know who Patrick Stump is?” 

“No,” Brendon says and he feels his ears press to his head like they do when he’s uncomfortable. 

Ryan blinks at him. “Did those just move? I didn’t know they made fakes that moved, now. They must be really expensive.” 

“Um. I guess,” Brendon mumbles, picking his hat back up and shoving it down on his head, making sure his ears are covered. “I. I need to go. My break is over soon.” He stands up and glances at them quickly, noting the strange looks on their faces. “Um. Bye.” 

Brendon doesn’t mean to be rude, but he doesn’t want to talk to about it anymore. He hurries back to the store and hides in the back room for the rest of his break, not answering Jenna when she asks who those boys were. 

When Brendon looks out of the display window a few minutes later, they’re still there, but after a few hours, they’re gone. He covers his worry by being more cheerful than usual to his customers and pretending to be really interested in what his co-workers and Jenna have to say.

Compulsively, he checks his hat every few minutes to make sure it’s still covering everything. 

His double-shift ends an hour before the Hut closes, so it’s dark when he finally gets to leave. Neither of the boys is around, which Brendon is thankful for. He didn’t want to talk to them again. 

There’s microwavable lasagna in the freezer, so Brendon heats that up and eats it for dinner. He goes to bed and doesn’t let himself think about anything at all. 

\---

The bell signaling customers rings halfway through Brendon’s shift and he looks up, smiling. His smile slips when he sees who it is. It’s the boys from yesterday and Brendon feels a frown tugging at his mouth. 

“How may I help you?” he asks softly, staring down at the register. 

“Yeah, can I get a medium Raspberry and Cream and Choco-Bananarama?” the other boy asks, taking out his wallet. He looks up when Brendon says the price. The name on his card says Spencer Smith. It’s a nice name. He pins Brendon with a knowing look, but he doesn’t ask or say anything. 

Brendon turns around and busies himself with their smoothies while they take a table. He knows they’re looking at him, probably talking about him, but he ignores it. 

When their smoothies are done and poured into their cups, Jenna comes up and says, “Why don’t you go ahead and take your break and go sit with your friends for a little while?” 

“But—” Brendon starts, eyes wide. 

“It’s okay, we’re not too busy. Go ahead. I don’t want to see you behind this counter until I say so, okay?” She smiles at him and puts a hand on his back, steering him around the counter and to their table. “You boys have fun,” she says happily. 

Brendon holds their smoothies out dumbly. “Here are your drinks,” he says. 

“Have a seat,” Spencer says, pushing the free seat at the table out with his foot. 

Gingerly, Brendon sits down, squirming to get comfortable. The Smoothie Hut chairs are really hard and they hurt his tail if he sits the wrong way. Spencer eyes him again, in that knowing way, but he just looks. 

They sit there silently, awkwardly, no one saying anything for a few minutes. 

“I forgive you for your poor fashion choices,” Ryan says serenely, wiping his finger along the rim of his straw then sucking it off. Brendon makes a face while Spencer rolls his eyes. 

“What Ryan means,” Spencer says, turning back to Brendon, “is that you seem pretty okay.” 

Ryan makes a mulish face. “That’s not what I mean,” he grumbles. “You can be our friend if you bring me these every day,” he says, shaking his Choco-Bananarama at Brendon. 

“Oh you do not,” Spencer starts but Brendon is already nodding seriously. 

“That sounds fair,” Brendon says softly. He’s never really had a friend before, but he guesses that it’s probably a stipulation-based relationship like it was with his family. Brendon has just never had anything anyone wanted, before. 

Spencer rolls his eyes again and says, “You don’t have to,” but he sounds resigned. Brendon knows he’s just trying to be nice. 

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “I don’t mind. I get them for free anyways.” 

Ryan makes a pleased face while Spencer sighs, sounding put-upon. 

“Brendon,” Jenna calls out from behind the counter, frowning. “Break’s over,” she says apologetically. 

“Oh,” Brendon says, surprised. “Okay. See you later?” he asks them. 

They look at each other for a few seconds before Spencer asks, “What’s your work schedule We can drop in on your lunch break tomorrow.” 

Still surprised, Brendon takes out his wallet and hands them his copy of his schedule. 

Ryan takes it and scans it quickly before nodding and handing it to Spencer. “See you later, Brendon,” he says, standing up and saluting him with his cup. Spencer nods and they walk out of the Hut. 

Belatedly, Brendon lifts a hand and waves, even though they’re already gone. “Bye.” 

\---

The next day at work, they show up and Jenna instructs Brendon to take his lunch break. He sits through Spencer and Ryan’s conversation about “modern poetry’s starkness versus classical period romanticism”. It’s actually mostly Ryan talking, but Spencer nods and Hmms in the right places. It all goes over Brendon’s head, but he listens while he eats his apple for lunch. 

Spencer had given him a hard look when all he brought out was an apple and a bottle of water, and Brendon had mumbled about having a big breakfast. 

It’s clear that Ryan and Spencer have money, just like it’s clear that Brendon doesn’t. It’s embarrassing to be sitting there in his thrift-store pants and work uniform next to Ryan’s designer sunglasses and Spencer’s hundred dollar shoes. He honestly doesn’t know what they want with him. 

Ryan just smiles when Brendon hands him a smoothie. Spencer makes an exasperated noise but he still looks fond. 

“Do you want one, too?” Brendon asks softly. 

Spencer shakes his head. “Ryan will share.” 

“Hey!” Ryan shouts, scowling. “I will not,” he grumbles, grabbing the smoothie back after Spencer takes a gulp. “Asshole.” 

“You love me,” Spencer throws back, smug. Ryan just shrugs and takes a sip. 

Brendon watches, fascinated. 

\---

“So,” Ryan starts, kicking his feet up onto Spencer’s lap. He glares when Spencer shoves his feet off. “So. You should come over tonight,” he says easily. 

“What?” Brendon asks, hands pausing in mid-air. He was explaining the virtues of footed pajamas before Ryan interrupted him. 

Spencer smacks Ryan’s foot when he tries to put it back on his lap. “Our apartment. You should come over to it, tonight.” 

“I, um. I don’t know…” Brendon says, looking away and letting his hands flop into his lap. He’s known them for almost three weeks, now, but they’ve never invited him over before now. He’s not sure what to do. 

“Look,” Ryan says, standing up and pointing at Brendon, making him look back up. “You’re coming over whether you want to or not, got it?” 

Brendon nods wordlessly, staring up at Ryan with wide eyes. 

“Good. We’re going, now.” He keeps pointing at Brendon for a few seconds, making sure he understands. “C’mon.” Ryan leaves and Spencer has no choice but to follow, shooting Brendon an apologetic look over his shoulder. 

“See you,” he says quickly before the door shuts. 

Brendon sits at the table until Jenna pats him on his shoulder and informs him his lunch break is over. 

\---

Ryan is sitting at one of the tables that aren’t in direct line to the window, so Brendon didn’t see him. He looks up when Brendon exits the door. 

“Well, it took you long enough,” he says. “Jesus, I thought you’d never get out of there.” He puts one hand on his skinny hip after he stands up. 

Brendon shoves his hand in the pockets of his hoodie, unsure of what he’s supposed to do. “Why are you here?” he asks, finally. 

“Spencer says I was being pushy and that I had to come back and apologize,” he answers. Then he rolls his eyes and sighs. 

“You really don’t have to,” Brendon says, embarrassed. 

Ryan looks almost embarrassed as he shifts in place. “He said if I didn’t apologize, I got to sleep on the couch until I did. And, before you ask,” he says, putting a hand up when Brendon opens his mouth. “He would know. He always does.” 

“Oh,” Brendon says. “Okay.” 

“So, I’m sorry, then, for being pushy,” Ryan says. 

“It’s okay.” 

They stand staring at one another for a few seconds. Brendon shifts on his feet, uncomfortable with having Ryan staring at him so openly for so long, without Spencer there as a buffer. 

“So, you ready to come over? Spencer said he’s making stir-fry for dinner.” Ryan says, kicking his heel against the concrete. 

“Really?” Brendon asks, surprised. “You still want me to come over?” 

Ryan makes a face at him. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Oh,” Brendon says again. “Well, then. We can go.” 

\---

The walk to Ryan and Spencer’s apartment doesn’t take long, and Ryan spends the whole time insulting people they pass by. Brendon doesn’t know whether to be amused or horrified. Their apartment is in a really nice part of the city, and when they walk through the hallways, Brendon can’t hear anything other than their footsteps and Ryan, who’s now bitching about his neighbor’s yappy dogs. 

As soon as he unlocks and opens the door, Brendon smells the stir-fry and his stomach grumbles loudly. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed. He hasn’t eaten anything other than smoothies since lunch yesterday, but he gets his paycheck tomorrow and he was going to go grocery shopping then. 

Ryan shoots him a look that somehow manages to be both amused and smug at the same time. 

“Spencer, we have a guest!” he sing-songs, heading towards the kitchen. “You can leave your shoes there, if you want,” he says, waving at a pile of shoes and a line of tidier ones next to the door. “And take off that stupid hat,” he adds as an afterthought before ducking into the kitchen. 

Brendon looks at the empty doorway for a few seconds, completely bewildered, before toeing off his shoes and putting them in line with the others. He touches the brim of his hat, unsure if he should really take it off. Eventually, he does, since Ryan told him to. He takes his socks off, too, because he hates wearing them, and when he puts his feet back down, his toes sink into the carpet. It feels so good—his carpet is completely threadbare and soft—that he ends up kneading with his toes. 

When he looks up, Ryan and Spencer are standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at him. Spencer has an apron on, one arm wrapped around Ryan’s waist. 

“Comfortable?” Ryan asks, looking amused and smug again. 

Brendon flushes but nods, looking down at the ground stopping his feet. “Thank you for having me for dinner,” he says softly, looking up through his lashes, at Ryan and then Spencer. 

“No problem,” Spencer says, smiling. He turns to Ryan and swats him on the ass, grinning when he yelps. “Go set the table, you vagrant,” he says, leaning down to rub his nose against Ryan’s when Ryan pouts at him. 

“Oh,” Brendon says softly, watching them with wide eyes. He’s never known people who were gay, not really. He had that one cousin who came out, but then his parents made him go to a special camp and the rest of the kids weren’t allowed around him, anymore, so Brendon never really got to know him. After so many days of being around them, he feels like he should have known, but it still comes as a surprise to him. 

Spencer quirks a brow at him after Ryan leaves. “Oh?” he parrots. He doesn’t sound defensive, but his hip is cocked in a sharp sort of way that tells Brendon he’s not afraid to punch someone if he has to. 

Brendon shakes his head, flushing hotly again. “Nothing.” 

Nodding, Spencer relaxes back against the doorframe. “Isn’t that uncomfortable? Wearing those and a hat?” he asks, changing the subject, much to Brendon’s thanks. He’s looking at Brendon’s ears and Brendon touches them self-consciously. They do get sore but he knows that’s not what Spencer means. 

“Um. No, not really, I guess,” he says, taking his hand from his ears. It takes a lot of effort to keep them completely still, especially while Spencer stares at them. 

Spencer makes a noise but he doesn’t say anything. Ryan sticks his head out of the doorway and says, “Everything’s ready.” Spencer steers Ryan back into the kitchen and Brendon follows along behind them obediently. 

There are three dishes set up at the island in the kitchen and Brendon takes the one by itself. Ryan and Spencer sit on the other side, leaning into each other automatically. Everything has already been served up and Brendon closes his eyes, offers a tiny little prayer out of habit.

When he opens his eyes, Spencer and Ryan are already eating, so Brendon digs in. 

“This is delicious,” he says around a mouthful, making a delighted noise. He’s been mostly surviving on a steady intake of ramen and microwavable dinners. Sometimes, he goes out to eat, but he mostly can’t afford it, so he stays in. Spencer’s food, though, is possibly the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

Spencer ducks his head and smiles. “Thanks,” he says. “How old are you?” he asks, spearing a pea pod with his fork. 

The chairs have a lot of padding on the seat and back, and there’s a hole where he could poke his tail out, if he wasn’t still hiding it in his pants. He should invest in chairs like this, he thinks as he chews his mouthful. “Seventeen,” he says after he swallows. 

“You support yourself, I assume,” Ryan says. 

“Mmhm,” Brendon replies, nodding. “What about you?” he asks, looking at both of them. 

“I’m sixteen,” Spencer says, waving his fork at Ryan. “He’s seventeen. My birthday is in September, Ryan’s is in a few weeks, though, so I’m almost seventeen, he’s almost eighteen.” 

Brendon looks at them, surprised. He’d thought they were both older, because, well, they look and act older. Plus, neither of them looks like they were kicked out of their homes, and this apartment is far too nice for someone their age. “Really?” 

Ryan nods. “I have an uncle who lived up here but he died and I was named in the will for some reason. I guess he hated his kids or something. Anyways, I got a lot of money once his estate was sold, and I didn’t want to stay home any longer, so I moved up here.” 

“And I went with him, because God knows he would probably forget to pay the bills and he’d end up homeless within a month,” Spencer says, rolling his eyes. 

“What about school?” Brendon asks, alarmed. “And your parents?” 

Spencer and Ryan trade looks, like they’re having a silent conversation with just their eyebrows. “Well,” Spencer says slowly. “We did correspondence learning. Ryan was a senior already, so he didn’t have much to do, and I did extra so that we could both graduate back in May.” 

“Oh,” Brendon says, feeling suddenly stupid. He didn’t know there was such a thing as correspondence learning. It would probably require parental consent, though, and he knows he would never have gotten that. 

My parents are back in Nevada,” Spencer goes on, as if sensing Brendon’s mood. “When Ryan moved, they knew they couldn’t do anything to stop me from moving, too. We go down there every few months to see them, and over the holidays.” 

Ryan bites into a carrot almost viciously. “I doubt my dad’s even noticed I’ve been gone,” he says, rolling his eyes. Spencer tuts at him and pats his hand soothingly. 

“You two are from Nevada?” Brendon asks, surprised. Spencer nods. “Where from?” 

“Summerlin,” Ryan says absently, twining his fingers with Spencer’s. “What about you?” 

Brendon’s heart stops and then jolts back to life racing rabbit-quick. He was in Summerlin as well, but he’d never seen them. Not that he’d ever gone out of the house other than Meetings, anyways. But they’d obviously been in Chicago for a while, so maybe they wouldn’t know anything about him. 

“Um. Summerlin, actually,” he says, ducking his head. 

“Really?” Ryan asks, leaning forward and looking at him sharply. Spencer is giving him that knowing look again. 

“Why do you wear those fake ears anyways?” Spencer asks, throwing Brendon off-guard with the quick subject change. 

“Ah?” Brendon flounders for the right answer. He doesn’t want to lie, they’re his first friends, but he doesn’t want them to know. 

Ryan nods. “Yeah, you should take them off. It’s really not cool to wear them, especially since Patrick is a good friend of ours.” 

There’s that name, again, Patrick. Brendon still has no idea why he’s supposed to know who that is. “They, um. They don’t come off?” he says softly, unsure of how it’s going to go over. 

“What?” 

“I knew it.” 

Ryan turns his confused look on Spencer. “What do you mean, you knew it? Knew what? Spencer.” His voice takes on a warning tone. 

“Calm down,” Spencer says, squeezing Ryan’s fingers. “Listen, do you remember that Youtube clip Brent sent us last year? That kid from near Summerlin who belonged to some religious parents who hid his ML gene?” 

Ryan tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, Brent said that kid went missing last year and no one’s seen him since. I’m pretty sure everyone thinks the parents did something to him.” 

Brendon goes pale and sets his fork down. He knows what happened, when he was a baby, but his parents would never do something to him. They love him. “I, um. Yeah. That was probably me.” 

“I figured,” Spencer says, nodding. 

“How did you know?” Brendon asks softly, looking at his food instead of the other two. 

“The same reason Ryan decided you were okay to hang out with,” he says, nudging Ryan’s shoulder. 

When Brendon makes a confused face, Ryan shrugs. “I’ve never seen a kid like you wearing those fake ears. The people who wear them are flashy. They want attention. But you?” He pauses and gives Brendon a good look over. “You don’t want attention. You do the best you can to make people not pay attention to you. You put your hat on over them, instead of your ears over the hat. Wannabes would never do that.” 

Brendon shrugs. “When I was born, the midwife, she stopped them from. This isn’t—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head. “It’s not a good thing, being what I am. It’s a sin. Until a teacher made me take off my cap, no one knew. When they found out, They kicked me out of church,” he whispers. “My parents were going to send me away. I just. I left before they could send me away.” His ears press flat on his head and he has to stop himself from getting stupidly teary about it. 

“Where’s your tail?” Ryan asks, changing the subject quickly. “You should have a tail, right?” He gets a sudden strange look on his face. “Your parents didn’t cut it off, did they?” he asks in horrified fascination. 

“Ryan—!” 

“No,” Brendon says quickly, shaking his head, wide-eyed. Just the thought of it makes his stomach clench in pain. “No, it’s hidden. I tuck it into one leg of my pants.” He wants to take it out just to make sure it’s still there, now that Ryan’s talked about it being cut off, Jesus. 

Ryan says, “You don’t have to keep doing that, around us. It must be uncomfortable, right?” 

No one’s ever asked him if it’s uncomfortable, wearing the hat and hiding his tail in his pants. It was always just expected of him to do it. It didn’t matter if it hurt his ears or his sensitive tail. He shrugs. “Yeah. But there’s nothing else I can do.” 

Spencer makes a face at him. “You could try not hiding them?” 

“No, I couldn’t do that,” Brendon says, shaking his head. “What would people think? And if anybody knew, I’d have to leave again.” He shakes his head again. “I don’t want to have to leave again.” 

“Nobody would care,” Ryan says quickly. “First of all, Patrick lives here, which means everybody’s desensitized to it. Secondly, this isn’t the religious south. No one thinks you’re immoral for being what you are.” 

Brendon flattens his ears to his head again. “You don’t know that. And who’s Patrick?” he asks. “You’ve mentioned him three times, now.” 

Spencer shares a look with Ryan. “Do you seriously not know who he is?” Spencer finally asks after they’ve had their silent conversation. 

“I don’t have a television or computer,” Brendon explains. “Even when I was back home, my computer and television use was very limited and monitored. I honestly don’t know who you’re talking about. Is he someone famous?” 

“I guess you could say that,” Ryan says slowly, looking like he’s thinking about something. 

Spencer cuts Ryan off before he can say anything else. “Why don’t you go to the restroom so you can take your tail out? It can’t be comfortable, keeping it tucked in. I promise, we really won’t mind. It’s down the hall, first door on the left.” 

Brendon looks between them and then nods, getting up and heading towards the indicated room. He’s actually thankful to be able to take his tail out. It’s been cramping up lately and, mostly. Mostly, it’s just nice to be able to have it around people that won’t stare and make fun of him or hate him for it. 

As soon as the bathroom door is shut, Brendon unbuckles his pants and takes them down enough to pull his tail out. His fur gets smoothed the wrong way when he has to pull it out through the hole he cut in the back of his boxers. When it’s out, he pulls his pants back up. It’s not the most comfortable, having his pants dig into the bottom of his tail, but it’s better than the alternative. He holds his tail to his cheek, rubbing it against his skin. It’s comforting, feeling it. He doesn’t know what he would do without his tail—he’s had it all his life, it’s a part of him, in every way. He wouldn’t feel right without his tail and ears. 

He goes back into the kitchen, and Spencer and Ryan both look at his tail, but they don’t stare for too long. When he sits down, his tail goes through the hole in the back of the chair nicely; another reason to invest in them. His tail curls around one of the legs of the chair. 

“Have you, uh. Have my parents said anything?” he asks suddenly. If they know about the newscast about him, maybe they heard something about his parents. 

Spencer makes a sympathetic face and shakes his head. “After you disappeared, they didn’t leave the house for a while, and they refused to say anything to any reporters. Everyone assumes you either ran away or, y’know.” He doesn’t repeat what Ryan said, but Brendon knows what he means. 

“Oh,” Brendon says, slumping over his plate. He suddenly isn’t so hungry anymore. 

“Hey,” Ryan says, throwing a slice of red pepper at him. Brendon frowns and looks at him. “Their loss, right?” he asks, giving Brendon a crooked smile. 

Brendon tries to smile back, but he knows it probably doesn’t look right. “I guess.” 

There’s an awkward silence between them for a few minutes before Spencer stands up, picking up his and Ryan’s plates. “Okay, well. Ryan, you get to wash, since I cooked. Brendon and I will be in the living room.” 

Ryan pouts again. “I always have to do the dishes,” he complains. 

“Well,” Spencer says, leaning down to press a kiss to Ryan’s forehead, “if you would learn to cook, you wouldn’t have to do the dishes all the time.” Spencer gets up and puts his and Ryan’s dishes in the sink and Brendon does the same while Ryan grumbles.

“To the living room, while Ryan slaves away at our mess,” he says, laughing at Ryan. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Ryan mumbles. “I know where you sleep.” 

Spencer rolls his eyes fondly. “Idle threat.” He grabs onto Brendon’s arm and pulls him back towards the living room. “C’mon. I’ll show you Patrick.” 

“Is he here?” Brendon asks, following after Spencer obediently. 

“Wow,” Spencer says, shooting him a bewildered look. “You really haven’t gotten out much, have you?” he asks. “Rhetorical question, I can already guess the answer. No, he’s not here, but I have a bunch of pictures of him on the laptop from our last trip to the zoo.” 

“I’ve never been to a zoo,” Brendon says mindlessly as Spencer drags him over to the couch. The laptop is already on the coffee table. Brendon can see a few IMs flashing, but Spencer ignores them. 

He opens a picture folder conveniently labeled “zoo trip” and plops the laptop in Brendon’s lap. Brendon holds onto the side carefully, afraid of dropping and breaking it. He really can’t afford to replace it if that happens. 

“Okay,” Spencer says, clicking on the first picture. “This is Patrick.” 

Brendon looks at the boy on the screen in wonder. He’s short and pudgy and he’s got a bitchy look on his face, which doesn’t surprise Brendon, if he hangs out with Ryan and Spencer. What’s amazing is the fact that, perched on top of his head is a pair of strawberry blond cat ears. 

“He’s got the Missing Link gene,” Brendon breathes out. 

Spencer nods, smiling. “Yup. Chicago’s own. He’s really famous here.” He clicks to the next picture, where Patrick has turned his bitchy look on a boy with wild dark hair and laughing eyes. There’s another boy in the picture and Patrick’s tail is wrapped around his waist. It’s the same colour as his ears. “That’s Jon. He’s Patrick’s boyfriend. The crazy looking one is Pete, Patrick’s best friend.” 

He goes through a bunch of pictures, some showing Patrick, some with people Spencer names, but Brendon isn’t paying attention. He’s still stuck on Patrick and Patrick’s boyfriend, Jon. 

“That’s nothing,” Ryan says, coming in from the kitchen finally. He throws himself down on Spencer’s lap, ignoring his grunt of complaint. “Patrick doesn’t have a job, either, but he’s like, filthy rich. His mom was really smart and she gave a few interviews when he was a baby that she keeps getting royalties on. And, he’s like, sponsored by some clothing line, so he gets all his clothes for free. They make him custom shit.” He swats Spencer’s hand away and pulls up a different picture. 

Patrick is in the background, facing away from the camera, looking at Jon fondly. Ryan points at his jeans without touching the screen. They’re pretty tight and there’s a little hole where his tail pushes through, and a strip of fabric and a button over top. Brendon bets that it’s comfortable. 

“I’m sure he’d give you some, if you asked,” Ryan says slyly, looking at Brendon out of the corner of his eye. 

“I could meet him?” Brendon asks softly, looking at Patrick. In the next picture, he’s wearing a hat, but there are slits for his ears. Brendon stares at it wistfully. “Do you think he’d want to meet me?” he asks, looking at Spencer and Ryan. 

They’re both looking at him a little fondly and Brendon ducks his head, embarrassed to be looked at like that. “I’m sure he’d love to meet you,” Spencer says, sounding just as fond as he looks. 

\----

Brendon goes back to his apartment after another hour at Ryan and Spencer’s. Honestly, he wanted to stay there forever, but he isn’t their friend, even if he thinks of them as his, and he didn’t want to impose on their time any more than he had. Ryan had invited him over, yeah, but not for the whole night or anything. 

Still, when Brendon lies down on his mattress that night, staring up at the ceiling, all he can think about is how nice it was, over at their apartment. It’s a place he would love to spend all of his time. 

He flops over onto his stomach, tail twitching up towards his nose. His bed seems lonely, for some reason. 

\---

After another week passes, and Brendon stops thinking about how amazing Ryan and Spencer’s apartment is. They keep coming in during his shifts, but they haven’t extended any invitations again. Brendon doesn’t let himself think about it. 

He’s in the grocery store, debating between store-brands of cereal when he hears, “Hey, you.” Brendon turns around, confused until he sees both Spencer and Ryan standing at the beginning of the aisle, staring at him. 

“Oh, hey! Hi, I didn’t know you shopped here,” he says, throwing the more sugary cereal into his basket and going over to them. 

Spencer rolls his eyes at Ryan. “Someone here needed a specific brand of apple butter for his toast, because it was so fucking important.” Ryan smiles blithely and holds out the glass jar for Brendon to inspect. “Getting a few things?” Spencer says, eyeing Brendon’s basket. 

“Yup. This week’s groceries,” Brendon explains. Spencer arches a brow at him and looks at his basket again. There’s the cereal, some cup-ramen, a bag of apples and oranges and another filter for the water purifier on his faucet. 

“That’s all?” he asks, giving Brendon a disapproving look on par with Brendon’s mom. “Surely that can’t feed you for a week.” 

Brendon ducks his head and blushes. “Ah, well. I can’t really afford much? The Smoothie Hut doesn’t really pay out the big bucks, y’know.” 

Spencer hmms and trades a look with Ryan. After a few seconds of conversation via eyebrow wiggle, Spencer takes Brendon’s arm and steers him out of the aisle, towards the produce. Ryan heads the other way and by the time they’re in front of the greens, Ryan is back with a cart. 

“Um, what—?” Brendon starts. 

“We’ve got this,” Ryan interrupts, taking Brendon’s basket and waving him away. 

Brendon looks at them with wide eyes, startled. “No, really, you don’t have to. I’m fine with that, really.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Spencer says, picking up a bunch of tomatoes while Ryan pokes at some asparagus. 

After several minutes and more aisles, Brendon has a cart full of things he hasn’t seen since he lived with his parents. He looks down at it in despair, knowing how much it all costs and how much he can’t afford it. “I don’t even know how to cook any of this,” he says miserably, pointing to the fresh produce and meat. 

Spencer waves a hand at him. “Don’t worry about it,” he repeats, like he’s been doing every time Brendon objects at something being put in the cart. 

“Spencer can teach you how to cook it,” Ryan says, putting a roll of cut-and-bake cinnamon rolls in the cart. Brendon had been eyeing them while Spencer was looking at butter and cheese, but he didn’t know Ryan had been watching him. 

“Speaking of,” Spencer says, finally wheeling the cart towards the checkout aisles. “We’ll help you get all this to your place. I assume you don’t have a car?” he asks, but not in a snide way, like some of Brendon’s co-workers had. Brendon nods. “Okay, you’ll have to tell us how to get there, since we’ve never been.” 

Ryan makes a thoughtful face as the checkout girl greets them with a smile and a friendly hello before ringing their stuff up. “That’s right, you haven’t invited us up, have you?” he asks Brendon absently. “It’s a good thing we happened to be here at the same time, then.”

Brendon tries not to look too distraught at the thought of Spence and Ryan being in his apartment. He’s proud of it, of course—it took a long time to make it feel like a home. But they’re used to a lot more than his tiny apartment has to give. “I guess,” he says weakly. 

“I see you’re hiding your ears and tail again,” Ryan says softly, tugging on the bottom of Brendon’s skull cap. “I wish you wouldn’t.” 

“Ah,” Brendon says, ducking his head. “You don’t need to do this,” he says softly, watching Spencer take out a credit card and swipe it through the machine. “I’m okay.” 

Spencer sends him a wry look and Ryan pats his shoulder. “It’s really okay. We want to do this.” 

“But why?” Brendon asks as the girl hands Spencer his receipt and tells him to have a wonderful day. 

Ryan gives him a blank look. “Because you’re our friend.” 

\---

The whole ride over to Brendon’s apartment, Brendon thinks about what Ryan said. He’s their friend? He’s never been someone’s friend. No one’s wanted him to be theirs, before. The thought that he’s someone friend makes him stupidly giddy. 

Their car is just as nice as their apartment, new but not flashy. The trip doesn’t take too long, since Brendon lives pretty close to the grocery store, but Spencer holds onto the door handle harder than necessary while Ryan drives. 

“You can park around back,” Brendon says, pointing out the spot that would be his, if he had a car. 

After Spencer parks and they get out, Brendon grabs as many bags as he can carry, but Spencer takes a few back from him with a surly look. Ryan takes the paper bag with his apple butter in it and shrugs when Spencer makes a face at him. 

“I’m not cut out for heavy lifting,” he says simply, holding the door open for them and frowning at the lack of lock. “Which one is yours?” 

Brendon points towards the elevator. “407.” Ryan makes an impatient face but nods, heading towards the elevator. 

The ride up is almost uncomfortably silent and Brendon has to stop himself from humming to fill up the quiet. When they get out, Brendon makes a beeline for his apartment, shifting his bags around so he can unlock the door. He holds it open for them and waves Spencer to his tiny corner kitchen. 

“Well,” he says as Ryan and Spencer look around. “Home sweet home.” 

Ryan makes a face. “I’m pretty sure Spencer has boot-boxes bigger than this.” 

“Ryan,” Spencer says in a warning tone. “It’s…nice, Brendon,” he says, finally, after a few moments of awkward silence. “Very you.” 

Brendon ducks his head. He knows it’s not much, especially compared to their place, but it’s his and he worked really hard for it. “Thank you.” 

“Okay, well. I’m going to go get the laptop from the car. Spencer will help you make something for dinner,” Ryan says, heading back towards the door. “We can watch whatever DVD I can find in the car.” Spencer swats at him on his way out, but Ryan scurries out of reach just in time. 

“Oh, um,” Brendon starts, staring at Spencer with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you were staying over.” 

Spencer rolls his eyes. “Well, I guess we are, since Ryan’s already made plans.” He makes an apologetic face at Brendon. “You didn’t have anything you needed to do, do you? We can go, if you’re busy.” 

“No.” Brendon shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. You can stay if you really want to. I know it’s not much.” 

“It’s just fine,” Spencer says softly, putting his hand on Brendon’s for a second before turning away and rummaging through the grocery bags. “So, what are you in the mood for?” 

\---

Spencer makes something complicated that Brendon can’t identify, but tastes amazing. They pile onto the red loveseat—which Ryan eyed warily—and eat in near silence, interrupted only by Ryan bitching at Spencer to, “Stop sitting on my leg, Jesus.” 

“I can move to the mattress, if you want?” Brendon asks, clutching his chipped plate. Spencer and Ryan have different plates; Brendon couldn’t find a matching set at the thrift store. 

Ryan makes a face. “There’s no need for that. Spencer’s just being an asshole.”

Spencer smacks him on the arm. “I am not. You’re just a whiny bitch.”

They get into a tiny slap fight and Brendon watches as he eats his food. His tail twitches on the arm rest next to him and Ryan stops hitting Spencer to look at it. “Move,” he hisses, setting his plate down and crawling over Spencer’s lap so he can wedge in between Spencer and Brendon. 

“Hi,” Brendon says, bewildered by Ryan’s strange behavior. 

“Hi,” Ryan replies, still looking at Brendon’s twitching tail in a calculating manner. “Can I touch it?” he asks, fingers clenching over his knee. 

Spencer shoots him a look. “Ryan,” he says warningly, but Ryan waves him off. 

“I only ask because Patrick won’t let anyone but Jon touch his, and I’ve always wanted to know if it’s as soft as it looks,” he explains. 

Brendon nods and bends over so his tail has room to swing from the arm of the loveseat to Ryan’s lap, then straightens up. He twitches when Ryan carefully puts his hand on it, but he doesn’t jerk away like he normally would. Ryan is very gentle, only petting with the flow of his fur, and not squeezing at all. 

“So soft,” he breathes. “Spencer, feel.” 

Brendon watches, mute, while Spencer reaches across Ryan to pet. Having someone pet his tail for the first time in his life sends shivers down Brendon’s spine, but he doesn’t let it show. Really, he just wants to lie on his back, stomach exposed, so he can get belly rubs. But he’s pretty sure Spencer and Ryan wouldn’t react well to that. 

“Are your ears as soft as your tail?” Ryan asks, eying them. 

Brendon perks them up and bends his head so Ryan can reach. “Be careful,” he warns as Ryan lifts his hand. “They’re ticklish.” 

Ryan gets a devious look in his eyes but Spencer swats at him and he pouts. “You’re mean,” he says to Spencer, who just rolls his eyes. Ryan is just as careful with Brendon’s ears as with his tail. He rubs the tips and Brendon wants to purr but he controls himself. 

Having someone pet his tail and his ears at the same time feels like heaven. It feels a little too good, actually. Brendon stands abruptly, face hot. Ryan and Spencer look up at him, clearly surprised. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, but Brendon shakes his head. 

“I’m just. I’ll put the dishes in the sink,” he says, grabbing their plates and scurrying to his kitchen corner, glad to be able to face away from them. He’s wearing his loose pants, but he doesn’t want to risk them seeing how hard he is. It’s not right, feeling the way he does about the two of them. He can’t really help it, though—they’ve been so kind to him and no one has ever treated him this way before. 

Even if it wasn’t wrong to think about them that way, they’re together. They’ve committed themselves to one another. It doesn’t matter if Brendon wants to curl up between them—they don’t think about him that way. 

“Everything okay?” Spencer calls from the loveseat. 

Brendon takes a deep breath before turning around and smiling at them the best he can. “Everything’s great.” 

\---

His apartment is sad and cold when they leave. It’s ridiculous, because his apartment is the same as it was before they came over. But it still feels lonely without Spencer’s smile and Ryan’s sarcastic wit. He doesn’t like it. Brendon’s never been this dependent on another person in his life, before. It’s a little bit unsettling, and he’s afraid of the day that they grow tired of him.

Brendon knows they’re going to get tired of him sooner or later, it’s just a matter of time. He’s learned that everyone leaves, eventually. 

Really, there’s no point in trying so hard. Spencer and Ryan will get bored with him, so he might as well end it on his own terms. The longer he’s friends with them, the more it’ll hurt when they get rid of him. 

Why wait? Brendon doesn’t have the strength to deal with that kind of hurt. Not right now. Not again. 

He goes to bed feeling more alone than he has in a long time. 

\---

When Brendon wakes up the next morning, he ignores the fact that his pillow is wet and just goes about his day. 

\---

The next day at the Smoothie Hut, Brendon spends as much time doing his work as he does watching out for Spencer and Ryan. Jenna asks him what’s wrong, but he just shakes his head and gets back to whatever it is he’s supposed to be doing. 

He sees them heading towards the Hut around two o’clock and he panics. “I’m not here,” he says, looking at Jenna with wide eyes. 

“What?” she asks, confused. 

“If they ask, I’m not here.” Brendon ducks down beneath the counter half a second before the bells over the door ring. 

“Hi, is Brendon here?” he hears Ryan ask. 

Jenna hesitates and Brendon bites his lip, worried she won’t lie for him. “Uh, no, he’s not? He went to the store to go pick up some mangos for me. I forgot to buy enough to last through today.” 

“On his lunch break?” Spencer asks. Brendon can hear his frown. 

“Mmhm,” Jenna says, nodding. “You know Brendon, always eager to help.” Brendon ducks his head, knowing Jenna really means it. 

“I guess tell him we were here?” Spencer again. 

“Will do!” Jenna smiles really widely and a few seconds later, the bells ring again. “What was that all about?” she finally asks, looking down at Brendon with a concerned face. 

Brendon peers over the counter enough to see that Spencer and Ryan are definitely not outside the Hut before standing all the way up and giving Jenna a sheepish look. “I just,” he starts, before cutting himself off and looking down at the counter. He can feel his phone buzzing at his hip; one of them is calling him. “It was nothing.” 

She gives him a disbelieving look but doesn’t push. 

\---

The next few days go about the same; Brendon ducks behind the counter, into the break room, or back refrigerator and one of his co-workers tells Ryan or Spencer that he’s not there, but yeah, they’ll totally tell him you were here. 

He avoids their calls, too. Brendon’s never been so thankful in his life that he doesn’t have enough money for texting or a laptop. 

It’s hard, ignoring them, but Brendon knows it’s necessary. 

Friday, he trudges home from work, desolate. Jenna has forced him to take Saturday off, so Brendon doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He plans on getting a few things from the grocery store, doing a bit of laundry and generally bumming around the apartment like the loser he is. 

He stops short in the middle of the hallway when he sees Spencer and Ryan standing outside his door, looking peevish. Brendon considers running away before they notice him, but Ryan looks up before he has the chance. 

“If you’re going to try to ditch someone,” Ryan says, alerting Spencer to Brendon’s presence, “you probably shouldn’t let them know where you live, first.” 

Spencer snorts and shoves himself off of the wall. “What Ryan is trying to passive-aggressively say is, what the hell, Brendon?” 

“Um,” Brendon says smartly, standing in the middle of the hallway in his fruit-stained uniform. “I can explain?” 

Spencer gestures at Brendon’s apartment door. “By all means.” 

Brendon shuffles to his door and unlocks it, hunching into himself under Ryan’s glare. 

“I wasn’t trying to ditch you,” he says when they’re all in the living room—him on his mattress, Spencer and Ryan on the loveseat. Spencer gives him an unimpressed look. “I mean, I was, but just because I knew you were going to get tired of me,” he explains desperately. 

“What?” Ryan asks, face blank.

“You would get bored with me,” Brendon says softly, looking down. “Everyone does, eventually. I didn’t want to wait around for you two to decide you didn’t want me anymore?”

Spencer and Ryan get into another one of their eyebrow conversations. Sighing, Spencer shakes his head. “Why do I have to like emotionally retarded people?” he asks himself.

Brendon makes a face and Spencer looks at Ryan. “Well,” he says finally. “We were going to be mad at you, but I guess we can’t, now.” 

Ryan looks at Brendon with a bewildered expression. It looks strange on him. “Why would you think that, Brendon? First of all, we’re not friends with just anyone. Secondly, once you’re ours, you’re ours. The end.” 

Brendon makes a confused noise, face scrunched up. His tongue feels thick and his eyes burn, like he’s going to start crying. “Oh,” he says dumbly. 

Making a soft noise, Ryan goes to Brendon, hugging him fiercely. “We don’t let go easily, stupid,” he says, pushing Brendon’s cap off so he can rub his fingers over his ears. “Just ask Spencer. He’s been stuck with me since he was five.” He flicks Brendon’s ear. “Now come and sit on your ugly love seat with us and tell us all about how awful your week was without us.” 

Brendon sniffs and lets Ryan help him up. “Okay.” 

\---

Ryan and Spencer show up at his apartment so much throughout the next few weeks that Brendon ends up giving them the spare key that came with his original. 

They’re waiting for him inside when he gets home from work a few days later. Everything smells like baked goods and his mouth automatically waters, stomach growling. 

“What did you make me?” he asks, following his nose to the love seat. Spencer and Ryan are already eating their cinnamon rolls, and there’s one on a plate next to them, which Brendon attacks happily. “What’s with the delicious breakfast food?” he asks with his mouth full. 

“Jeez,” Ryan says, picking up his napkin and wiping Brendon’s face. “You’re gross. And lucky we like you.” Brendon beams at him and Ryan’s expression softens. 

“We have a surprise for you,” Spencer says, watching them with a fond look. 

“For me?” Brendon asks, blinking. He licks his icing-sticky fingers into his mouth and watches Spencer with wide eyes. 

“Mmhm,” Ryan hums, throwing a wadded up napkin at him. “You know how our birthdays are soon?” 

Brendon nods. He’s been saving up money to get them gifts ever since they told him when they were. 

“Well, we generally have our parties on the same day, to save time,” Ryan explains, popping the last bite of Spencer’s cinnamon roll into his mouth. Spencer swats at him halfheartedly. 

“We want you to come to the party,” he says, silently threatening Ryan’s scarf with his sticky fingers. Ryan makes an unmanly noise and tries to hide behind Brendon. 

Brendon grins and nods wildly. “Of course I’ll come,” he says, trying not to sound too spastic. 

“Great,” Spencer says, grinning. “It’s next Friday, so make sure you take Saturday off at work, too.” 

“Saturday?” Brendon asks. “But the party is Friday?” 

Ryan nods. “Yeah, it is. But your surprise will probably last until Saturday.” 

Brendon’s eyes get really wide again. “You mean my surprise isn’t that I get to come to your party?” 

“Oh, Brendon,” Spencer says, reaching over to pull Brendon into a hug. Brendon doesn’t bother to pull away when Spencer stops squeezing him. “We were going to invite you regardless,” he says. 

Brendon smiles a little to himself. “Oh. That’s cool.” 

“Of course it is, you freak,” Ryan says, pulling Brendon back against his scrawny chest and petting his ears—Ryan’s new favourite place to touch. It’s weird, because Ryan is slighter than Brendon is, but he keeps doing things like holding him when they’re on the couch. Brendon used to send Spencer nervous looks, but Spencer would just roll his eyes and look ridiculously fond. 

Now, Brendon snuggles back into Ryan’s embrace, glad to finally have friends like them.

\---

Jenna gives him both days off, looking completely delighted when he tells her he’s going to a birthday party. 

“I’m so glad you boys worked out your differences,” she says, positively beaming at him. 

Brendon ducks his head and smiles shyly. “Yeah. Me, too.” 

The day of the party, Brendon buzzes around his apartment, completely nervous. Ryan and Spencer come over to pick him up and Brendon clings to both of them the moment they walk through the door. 

“Your presents are in the cupboard above the refrigerator,” he tells them, fiddling with his cap. “Ihid them there so you wouldn’t find them.” 

“Brendon,” Spencer starts, tone wary. 

Brendon puts a hand up. “You two are my friends, Spencer,” he says, hanging off of Ryan’s arm. “My first friends. And you’ve done a lot for me. Getting you presents for your birthday is the least I could do. I wish I could do more to repay you.” 

Spencer leans in and Brendon gets half a second to worry that he’s going to hit him before Spencer touches his lips to Brendon’s forehead. 

“Um—” Brendon starts, face flushing hot. 

“Hey!” Ryan says indignantly and reaches for Brendon, turning his head so he can peck him on the cheek. 

Brendon stands there, dazed, while Spencer and Ryan mock-glare over his head. 

“I would say that’s present enough, but I’m greedy,” Ryan says, pulling Brendon to him and giving Spencer a challenging look. “Go get the presents, will you?” 

Spencer quirks a brow at him, but goes to the cabinet, fetching the two little boxes

Brendon spent hours wrapping. It took him so long because he got a little over-enthusiastic with the bows and glitter and had to re-do them several times. 

“The red one is Ryan’s,” he says when Spencer looks at them both. Ryan makes grabby hands at Spencer until he hands the red-wrapped present over. “I don’t know if you’ll like it,”

Brendon says, as Ryan rips through the paper and opens the box. 

He pulls out a long scarf that’s hand-knit. It’s soft and slinky and green with shots of shiny gold thread woven in. “Oh,” Ryan says softly, letting it fall over his fingers. “Where did you find this?” 

Brendon ducks his head. “There’s a woman in the building that has a hard time with her groceries? I saw her knitting some things and I asked her if she would make it if I paid her.” Brendon scuffs his foot against the floor. “It’s not as fancy as the ones you have, but I thought it would look pretty on you.” His face feels hot. 

“Brendon,” Ryan breathes, holding his new scarf to his chest. “Thank you.” He wraps it around his neck, even though Brendon protests that it’s too hot for it. “It’s never too hot for fashion,” Ryan says primly. 

Spencer opens his next, and there’s just a little envelope inside. He shoots Brendon an amused look and Brendon bites his lip, worried. He wasn’t so sure about what to get Spencer, and his tastes were completely different from Ryan’s, so he couldn’t get him a similar gift. 

“If, um, you don’t like it, that’s fine. I can get something else for you…” Brendon says softly, unsure. 

Spencer shakes his head, looking confused when he pulls out a piece of paper. “What is it?” he asks, looking up at Brendon. 

“Well, you told me once that you used to drum, back in Summerlin, but you didn’t anymore, because you couldn’t play your drums in the apartment. One of the girls I work with apartment sits for a drummer in some band, and she said she talked to him after I told her I had no idea what to get you, and he said he would let you come over to his place while he was home and get lessons from him,” Brendon explains, knowing he’s babbling. 

Spencer studies the little sheet of paper with printed information on it and curses. “Fuck, Brendon, does that say Bob Bryar?” he asks, voice sounding weak. 

“What?” Ryan asks loudly. “Are you serious?” 

“Um. Yes? Is that not good? He sounded really nice on the phone when he called to talk about prices and hours and stuff. He thought it was cute that I didn’t know who he was, for some reason. Also, some guy named Gerard kept yelling at him that it wasn’t right to charge me? I was pretty confused.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Brendon. You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” Spencer asks, looking at Brendon with a really big grin. 

“What?” Brendon asks, still confused. 

Ryan takes the paper from Spencer and reads it, eyes getting bigger with each word. “Holy shit, Spence, drum lessons with Bob Bryar.” 

“I know,” Spencer whispers. 

“I’m glad you like it?” Brendon asks, smiling a little in bemusement. 

Spencer catches him by the hand and tugs him in for a crushing embrace. “Thank you so much, Brendon,” he says into Brendon’s neck. 

Flushing, Brendon smiles wider. “So who is Bob Bryar, anyways?” he asks. 

Spencer pulls away and stares at him in disbelief. “Bob Bryar? Of My Chemical Romance?” he asks, looking a little distraught when Brendon shakes his head. “Wow. So, remind me to let you Wikipedia them when we get back from the party, okay?” 

“Or better yet,” Ryan says, folding the paper carefully and handing it back to Spencer. “Get Pete to tell you about them.” 

“My Chemical Romance makes Ryan dance,” Spencer tells Brendon with a serious face. 

Ryan hits him on the shoulder. “They don’t make me dance you, asshole.” 

“Uh huh. Tell that to the video my mom still has of you dancing in front of the television last year,” Spencer says, grinning. Ryan’s face gets read and he makes a high-pitched noise.

Brendon watches them bicker with a small smile on his face. On the way to the car, he reminds himself that Pete is the wild-haired best friend of Patrick, and Brendon is going to meet him, tonight, which is pretty awesome, but also intimidating. What if Pete doesn’t like him like Ryan and Spencer didn’t like him at first, too? Then he’ll tell Patrick not to like Brendon, and that would be awful. He tugs on the edge of his cap, pulling it down further, just in case. 

“Earth to Brendon,” Ryan says, twisted back around from the front seat. “We’re here.” 

“Really?” Brendon asks, looking out the window. They’re in an industrial area of the city, and Brendon looks back at Ryan, confused. “Here?” 

Ryan nods. “Yeah. One of our friends rented a warehouse for the party. Gabe, he’s great. You’ll like him, I promise.” 

There are a lot of cars parked around, and when they get inside there are so many people. Brendon gapes. 

“You know a lot of people,” he says softly, awed. 

Ryan grins, smug, and links his arm with Brendon’s. “We’re kind of the shit,” he says, while everyone shouts and cheers Happy Birthday to them. 

“Yo! Ross is finally a man!” someone says, coming up behind them and putting their arms around Ryan and Spencer’s shoulders. “I’m so proud.” 

Spencer rolls his eyes and takes Brendon’s other arm, pulling him into a really strange four-way hug. “Brendon, this is Gabe. He’s from New York so I have no idea why he hangs out in Chicago so much. He’s pretty suspicious, so you should stay away from him,” he says dryly. 

“Spencer!” Gabe shouts, putting his hand to his chest, which squishes Ryan under his arm. “I’m hurt. How could you say such painful things when you have such a beautiful face?”

Brendon ends up pressed between Ryan and Spencer when Gabe finally lets them go to inspect him. 

“Oh ho, new friend, eh?” Gabe asks, giving him a head-to-toe leer. Brendon fidgets a little, but doesn’t back down. He wants their friends to like him. 

“Yes,” Ryan says, pulling Brendon closer to his chest. “And he’s ours, so back off. Go bother William or something.” 

Gabe puts his hand back to his chest, looking between Spencer and Ryan, face wounded. “You two,” he says, shaking his head. “After all I went through to set this party up, you treat me so callously.” 

Spencer and Ryan share an unimpressed look. “Oh, Gabe,” Ryan deadpans, looking back at Gabe. 

“How could we ever thank you for you kind gift?” Spencer asks, sarcasm clear, face bland. 

Gabe nods, looking satisfied. “That’s more like it. You’re ever so welcome. You should introduce Brendon around, I’m sure he’ll feel quite welcome here.” He pats Brendon on the head. “Also, your hat is sort of ugly, dude. You should lose it.” 

Brendon flushes. “I’ll think about it,” he says, even though Gabe is already walking away, throwing a wave over his shoulder. 

“Gabe is right about one thing, though,” Ryan says, dragging Brendon and subsequently Spencer to a cluster of loudly talking people. “Let’s introduce you to our friends.” 

Brendon takes a deep breath and nods. 

\---

Over the next hour, Brendon meets a lot of people. There’s Gabe, of course, and his “posse, dude, they’re my posse,”—Ryland and Victoria, Nate and Alex. He meets Greta and her boyfriend Bob, and Chris and Darren and a mellow looking guy named Joe. There’s also the fierce and heavily tattooed Andy, who tries to talk to Brendon about the end of the world. There’s William, who seems as tall as the ceiling, and his friends Siska, Mike, Michael and the Butcher. There’s also a tall black man named Travis who grins at Brendon sloppily and calls him, “little dude, you’re all little dudes”. There’s also Tom, who sends strange looks William’s way, and Sean, Ryan L and Alfred and Max. 

It’s the most people Brendon has ever met at one time in his life, and he’s been a part of more than one Urie Clan Reunion. They all seem friendly and smile at him and toast and cheer the birthday boys, and no one says anything mean towards him. It’s…nice. 

“Oh, hey, finally,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes. “He’s actually here.” 

“Who’s that?” Brendon asks, confused. He\ thought he’d met everyone there. 

Spencer grins and tugs on Brendon’s hand. “Your surprise is finally here.” 

Brendon feels suddenly nervous. He’s been nervous and excited about his surprise since they told him about it. “What is it?” he asks, looking around. 

“This way,” Ryan tells him, and he and Spencer bring him closer to the entrance of the warehouse. “Hey, Pete!” he says, getting a dark-hair fierce-eyed man’s attention. 

“Ross!” he cries out happily, leaping over to meet them and pull Ryan into a crushing hug. He fist bumps Spencer at the same time. “Dude, how’ve you been?” he asks, planting a sloppy kiss on his hair. “Happy birthday, dudes.” 

“Thanks,” Spencer says serenely, keeping a hold of Brendon’s hand. “This is Brendon, Pete. We told you about him, remember?” 

Pete moves his sharp gaze to Brendon and he grins, widely. Brendon flushes and kicks his foot against the floor. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you,” he says shyly. 

“You, too, dude,” Pete says, grin widening. “These guys have told me a lot about you.” 

“Really?” Brendon asks, eyes wide. 

Ryan waves Pete off. “Where is he? You guys were supposed to be here like, ages ago. Brendon’s been waiting patiently for his surprise.” 

Pete gets a sneaky grin. “Ah yes. He’s right over here. I left him with Bills and Jon for safe keeping.” 

“Jon?” Brendon asks before he’s pulled along by Spencer to a small cluster of people. Brendon sees William, who must be Bill, and Jon, who he recognizes from the zoo photos.

William has his arm around someone’s shoulders and Jon’s watching, amused. Brendon looks at who it is and his breath catches. 

“Guys?” he asks softly, holding onto Spencer’s hand kind of hard. “My…surprise?” 

Spencer squeezes his hand and smiles at him. “It’s okay, you can go say hi.” He lets go of Brendon’s hand and reaches up to tug off his hat. Brendon makes an unhappy noise, but Spencer just smiles. “It’s okay. You’re fine, Brendon.” 

Pete gives him an interested look, gaze flicking up to Brendon’s ears only once. “You wanna untuck your tail, too?” he asks, giving Brendon an amused look. 

“Ah,” Brendon says softly, unsure, but Spencer and Ryan are giving him supportive looks and Pete hasn’t said anything and Patrick is right there. So he reaches behind himself and takes his tail out, letting it hang down near his leg, twitching nervously. 

He walks up to Patrick’s group, Spencer’s hand pressed to his lower back supporting him. “Um. Patrick?” he says, voice quavering. 

The conversation stops in the little crowd and Patrick looks over at him. He looks Brendon over for a second, eyes pausing at his ears and going a little wide. “Yeah?” he asks, stepping away from William and closer to Brendon. Everyone in the little group is looking at Brendon, staring at him in surprise, but Brendon doesn’t let it stop him, no matter how much it freaks him out. 

“Hi,” he says, holding his hand out. “Hi, I’m Brendon.” 

Patrick smiles and takes Brendon’s hand, shaking it. “Hi, Brendon. It’s nice to meet you.” 

\---

Brendon only has enough courage to talk to Patrick for a few minutes before he escapes everyone’s staring eyes. Ryan and Spencer bundle him over to the present table and Brendon presses his face into Spencer’s neck, face burning. 

“You did so well, Brendon,” Ryan says, soft pride evident in his voice. 

He can feel Spencer nod. “You really did. Did you like your surprise?” 

“Yes,” Brendon says, nodding. He holds onto Ryan’s hand tighter. “No one said anything,” he says, confused. 

“Why would they?” Ryan asks. “They all know and love Patrick. You surprised them, but that’s all.” 

Brendon nods. It makes sense. “Thank you,” he whispers, feeling his eyes well up. “Thank you both so much.” 

Spencer steps back and makes Brendon look up, fingers under his chin. “Brendon. You don’t have to thank us for this. We like you, and we want you to be happy, and we think that you would be happy, being friends with Patrick.” 

Ryan nods and takes hold of Brendon’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “We just want what’s best for you.” 

“I know,” Brendon says, giving them a watery smile. He knows, now, that that’s all they want for him. He laughs and wipes his cheeks. “Hey, this is your party. You should be out there, hanging out with everyone.” 

Spencer and Ryan share another look, and both of them take one of his hands. “Come with us,” Spencer says, and Brendon nods, squeezing their hands. 

\---

After cake and presents and a lot of dancing—including having Gabe grab Brendon around the waist and spinning him around the makeshift dance floor—the party winds down.

Everyone waves at Ryan and Spencer, wishing them happy birthday again, and they all tell Brendon it was nice to meet him. Brendon’s never felt so wanted. 

“So, a few of us were going to head over to Jon’s apartment and spend the night. Do you want to join in?” Ryan asks, fake-casual. 

“Is that okay?” Brendon asks, and then, “Who’s going to be there?” He flushes as soon as he asks. 

Spencer grins and pats his head, stroking one finger up Brendon’s left ear. He hadn’t put his ears or tail away for the rest of the party, and it felt right, having people see him and know what he was. “Well, Jon and Patrick, of course, and Pete for a while. Ryan and I. We’d like it if you came, too.” 

Brendon nods, smiling hugely. He knows it’s a privilege, getting to spend time with Spencer and Ryan and their friends, on a personal level. They all help to lug the presents into Spencer’s car and then they head out of the warehouse, following behind Jon’s bright blue VW bug. Brendon thinks it’s the most brilliant car ever. 

“Patrick sort of completely hates it,” Spencer tells him, laughing. “But Jon loves it.” 

“Jon has two cats, by the way,” Ryan says, checking his mirrors before getting into the turn lane behind Jon. 

“Really?” Brendon asks, quirking his head to the side. “Isn’t that…weird, for Patrick?” 

He sees Ryan roll his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Patrick made a big deal out of it, once, that Jon only fucked him because he was the closest thing to a cat, but then Jon did something super romantic or something, and Patrick stopped complaining.” 

Brendon tries to think about it. How he would feel if he was dating someone who owned cats. He wouldn’t really have a problem with it—he loves animals, but they’d never had any, when he was growing up. Besides, it wasn’t like MLs were actually part cat. It wouldn’t make a difference at all. 

“Do you think they’ll let me pet them?” he asks, curious. He’s always wanted to pet a cat. Or a dog. Anything, really. 

Spencer shoots him an amused look. “Probably,” he says. “They’re people cats.” 

“People cats?” Brendon asks. 

“Yeah,” Ryan says, pulling into the empty spot next to Jon and turning the car off. “Like how some people are cat people? Jon’s cats are people cats.” 

Brendon nods and gets out of the car, closing the door behind him. Ryan takes his hand and leads them up the stairs to Jon’s apartment. He’s been doing that a lot lately, taking Brendon’s hand just to direct him around. Brendon strangely doesn’t mind. 

When they get to Jon’s, they can hear Pete through the door. Spencer rolls his eyes and walks in. Jon is sipping something from a red cup, Patrick curled up in his lap and stealing sips every few seconds. They’re laughing at Pete’s epic failure at trying to play Guitar Hero. 

As soon as Patrick sees them, he gets up, batting at Jon’s grasping fingers. “You guys want drinks?” he asks and Brendon automatically says, “Yes, please.” 

Ryan and Spencer exchanged amused looks and Ryan says, “Just get us some waters, okay?” 

Brendon nods and trails after Patrick to the kitchen. Jon’s apartment is about a hundred times nicer than Brendon’s. 

“So,” Patrick says, leaning against the counter and giving Brendon a thorough once-over. Brendon tries not to fidget. “So,” he says again, “I heard about you, of course. Pretty much everyone did, but they all thought you were a hoax or something. They never said your name, either.” His tail twitches and Brendon stares at it. 

“I didn’t expect you existed,” Brendon says softly, looking back up at Patrick. “My parents, they…Our religion didn’t allow me to be an ML. That’s why I hid it, for all these years.” 

Patrick nods. “I met the other ones, here, once, when I was really little. It was for some television program or something, about us. About people with the gene. You’re the closest one to my age, though.” 

Brendon doesn’t know any of that. Spencer told him he could use his and Ryan’s laptop whenever he wanted, but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to look up what he is. He’s tried.

“Oh,” he says finally, when Patrick looks at him expectantly. 

“Hey,” Patrick says, taking a step away from the counter and towards Brendon. “You okay? I know this is a lot to take in, but it’s going to be okay, you know?” 

Nodding, Brendon looks at the floor. “I’m okay,” he says quietly. He jumps when Patrick pulls him into a hug. It’s strange, feeling a tail that's not his own touching his wrist. 

Pulling back, Patrick says, “Well, you’re not alone anymore. If you need anything, I’m here for you.” 

Brendon feels his eyes burning but he sniffs and smiles at Patrick. “Thank you. I guess we should get those drinks out there, huh?” 

\---

Every other week, Ryan and Spencer bring Brendon over to Jon’s—and practically, Patrick’s— apartment. Sometimes Pete is there, and sometimes others of their various and sundry friends. Brendon doesn’t mind so many people, anymore—they’re all super nice to him and they ask questions, but none that make him feel uncomfortable. They all ask to pet his ears and tails and he doesn’t mind at all. Sometimes, he sees Ryan or Spencer frowning when they watch it, but they never say anything. 

They’re at Jon’s and Pete is telling some story about people Brendon doesn’t know, but it’s still plenty funny. Brendon laughs and smiles when Pete flops down on the couch next to him. 

“Sucks to be the only single guys in the room, doesn’t it?” he asks, pointing his chin in the direction of the chair and loveseat. Jon and Patrick are cuddling, and Ryan is sitting in Spencer’s lap. Brendon feels a tiny pain in his chest, seeing the two of them together like that, but he doesn’t let it show. 

“I guess we’ll just have to get together, Wentz,” he says, trying not to laugh. “Get with the program, you know.” 

Pete brays his honking laugh and throws his arm around Brendon’s shoulder. “I like you, Urie,” he says, grinning. His grin vanishes when he looks at the others. “Whoa there, if looks could kill,” he says, and Brendon looks over, too. 

Spencer and Ryan are glaring daggers at Pete and his arm, and Brendon giggles reflexively at the twin looks. Ryan squints at him and he shuts up abruptly. Pete takes his arm out from around Brendon. 

“So,” Jon says awkwardly, breaking the tense silence. “Brendon, I notice that you still keep your tail and ears hidden unless you’re with us. Are you still not comfortable having them out?” 

Brendon bites his lip and shakes his head, ears flattening to his skull. “No, it’s not that,” he says and notices Spencer and Ryan relaxing back into the couch. “I don’t really want to give my manager any trouble, having them out all the time, and it’s not super comfortable having the top of my jeans cutting into the base of my tail. I tried cutting a slit in the back of them, like I do with my boxers, but that just ruined my jeans,” he explains. 

Patrick gets a calculating look on his face. “I see,” he says slowly. 

“What?” Brendon asks, smiling. 

Patrick shakes his head. “Nothing, nothing,” he says, waving a hand. “So, Pete…”

\---

Brendon has a package waiting for him when he gets back from work two days later. There’s a note inside when he opens the box. 

Dear Brendon, 

This might seem weird, but I got your measurements from Ryan and I got the company who makes my clothes to make some in your size. I hope you like them; they should feel a hell of a lot better than your other jeans. 

Sincerely,

Patrick Stump 

Sitting back, Brendon goes through the box in shock. There are several pairs of skinny jeans, in different washes, as well as boxers with a slit in the back sewn in and a few hats that shouldn’t constrict his ears. 

Brendon holds all the new things in his hands and smiles, feeling his eyes get hot.

\---

Months go by, and Brendon doesn’t even notice it. He works and hangs out with Ryan and Spencer and before he knows it, he’s waving goodbye at the airport a week before Thanksgiving. They’re heading down to Vegas, but Brendon doesn’t feel sad like he did the previous year. Jon and Patrick invite him over Thanksgiving night for dinner and Brendon brings a pumpkin pie from the same bakery he got his birthday cupcake from. It’s the best Thanksgiving he’s ever had. 

\---

Before Brendon realizes it, the lease is up on his apartment. He’s not sure if he should renew it or try to find someplace nicer, so he asks Ryan. 

“You should just move in with us,” he says, matter-of-fact, not even looking up from his magazine. 

Brendon blinks at him, confused. “What?” 

“He’s right,” Spencer says, leaning in the doorway to the kitchen. He has his Kiss Blow the Cook apron on. “I mean, you practically live here anyways, and it would help you. We wouldn’t even charge rent or anything.” 

Biting his lip, Brendon looks back down at the notice of expiration letter. “Are you sure that would be okay?” he asks. 

Ryan gives him a look and Spencer says, “Of course.” 

They help him move in by the Thursday he’s due out of his apartment. 

\---

Living with Ryan and Spencer is sort of weird. Brendon demanded to at least pay for his share of the utilities, which they reluctantly agreed to, but his expenses are still almost non-existent. He even cuts back his hours at the Smoothie Hut, which delights Jenna. 

Now that he’s not paying for his own apartment, he’s actually amassing some savings for the first time. 

But living with Spencer and Ryan is still weird. He’s used to watching them act cuddly around him, but he’s never actually walked into the living room to see them making out or getting seriously handsy, before. It’s disconcerting. Thankfully, the master bedroom and his bedroom don’t share a wall; there’s a bathroom between them. 

Living with them, though, is possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to Brendon. 

\---

Spencer comes back from his first drum lesson with an awed look on his face. Ryan laughs at him as soon as he steps through the door, but Brendon looks at him anxiously. 

“Well?” he asks, pulling Spencer over to the couch between him and Ryan. “Shut up Ryan,” he hisses behind Spencer’s back. 

Sucking a breath through his teeth, Spencer turns to Ryan. “I’m dumping you and running away to live with Bob Bryar for the rest of my life,” he says finally. 

Ryan gets the most offended look on his face and Brendon bursts out laughing, so fucking happy. 

\---

Brendon gets nervous by December tenth. They haven’t said anything about it, but Brendon knows Ryan and Spencer go back to Vegas for the holidays. By the seventeenth, Brendon just comes out and says it. 

“It’s okay that you’re going back home for Christmas. I’m going to work and then go give out presents, so you don’t have to worry about me, okay?” Brendon sounds a lot surer than he feels. 

Ryan and Spencer share a surprised look. “Um, Brendon,” Spencer says slowly. “We’re not going anywhere this Christmas. Mom and Dad are taking the twins skiing and we don’t want to go. I thought we told you?” 

“Oh,” Brendon says, deflating in relief. “No, you didn’t.” 

“Oops,” Ryan says, grinning sheepishly. Brendon is too relieved to do anything other than smile. 

\---

The next day, Spencer comes home with both arms full of shopping bags laden with Christmas decorations. Ryan rolls his eyes so hard Brendon wonders that they don’t fall out, but he just asks, “How big is the tree this time?” 

Spencer gets a shifty look. “Well. Bigger than last year? They’re delivering it in a few hours.” 

“Jesus, Spence,” Ryan says, sounding exasperated and fond at the same time. “You’re cleaning up all the dead needles.” 

Brendon perks up. “You got a real tree?” he asks, still going through the bags of decorations. 

Nodding, Spencer goes over to the bags. “Yup. Every year. It’s sort of a family tradition.” He takes out a roll of thin wire and a pack of needles and holds them up. “You wanna string popcorn while we’re waiting for the tree?” 

“Uh, yeah, duh,” Brendon says, going to the kitchen for the popcorn. 

\---

Unlike the previous December, Brendon spends the entire last-half of the month excited and cheerful. He smiles a lot and sings Christmas tunes at the top of his lungs, even when Ryan and Spencer throw pillows at him. They don’t really mean it, because Brendon knows Ryan likes when he sings; he gets quiet and has a thoughtful look on his face whenever he listens. 

Brendon even has enough money to get gifts for everyone, even if some of them are small and silly. He gives them all out the week before Christmas, and even though he only gets a few in return, Brendon is still delighted to see his friends’ smiles. He’s sappy like that. 

On Christmas Eve, Spencer makes lasagna and garlic bread and they all open one present each after dinner. They all open the gift from Spencer’s mom—which Brendon had been more than surprised to find he had—and Brendon laughs. 

All three boxes have matching sweaters in them, with snowmen and Santas and reindeer and candy canes. Ryan and Spencer both make appalled faces, but Brendon tugs his on with a grin and pokes them until they pull theirs on, too. 

They sit on the couch huddled together and drink hot cocoa until midnight. Then Ryan leans over Brendon’s lap to kiss Spencer on the cheek. 

“Another tradition,” Ryan says softly, looking up at Brendon. He and Spencer lean in at the same time and press kisses to his cheeks. “Merry Christmas, Brendon,” Ryan says. Brendon flushes hotly and ducks his head, but he’s still smiling all the same. 

\---

Christmas blurs into New Year’s and Brendon finds that, for the first time in his life, he’s happy. He’s actually content with his life. He’s not ashamed of himself; he doesn’t have to hide anything—even if he still keeps his ears and tails hidden when he works or is out in public. He just doesn’t want to deal with people knowing and staring at him the way they do with Patrick.

Brendon’s happy, though, and really, that’s all that matters. 

\---

The day before he turns eighteen, Jenna tells Brendon to take the next day off. He smiles at her and nods, but he doesn’t really have any plans for his birthday. He’s glad to not be alone, but he doesn’t want to make a big deal about it. 

Brendon hasn’t actually told anyone his birthday’s coming up. It’s just not a big deal, to him. As long as he doesn’t have to be alone again, he doesn’t care if no one knows. 

\---

He sleeps in the next morning, just because he can. Brendon’s never been allowed to sleep in on his birthdays at home, and at the old apartment, he hadn’t been able to sleep. He wakes up and the apartment smells like delicious breakfast. 

“Hey,” he says, stumbling out of his room and wiping the sleep from his eyes. He flops down on his seat at the table and eats everything on the plate Spencer sets in front of him. 

Ryan is clicking away at his laptop and Spencer is reading the newspaper and sipping coffee— which is the most ridiculous thing in the world, in Brendon’s opinion—and they both make hand gestures at him. They’re not the most articulate in the morning, Brendon’s learned.

Brendon smiles as he eats.

\---

Months pass, and Ryan and Spencer get angry with Brendon for not telling them things like his birthday and other stupid stuff that Brendon thinks they don’t need to know about. They don’t fight often, and mostly Ryan just gets that disappointed look on his face. Mostly, everything is fine. 

The next thing Brendon realizes, it’s been almost two years since he ran away from his home. It makes his chest hurt, thinking about the fact that no one has ever looked for him, but he pushes the hurt away. It’s better this way. 

He’s known Ryan and Spencer and all of their friends for a little over a year, and Brendon doesn’t regret any second of it. 

\---

“Hey guys, what do you want for—Jesus Christ!” Brendon backs out of the apartment, eyes squeezed closed. He can hear Spencer cursing and a door slamming shut. 

Brendon keeps his eyes shut until Spencer opens the apartment door and says, “You can come in, now, Brendon.” 

Cracking one eye open, Brendon studies Spencer. He’s red in the face and his hair is messed up and his clothes use hastily put on. “Sorry,” Brendon says. “I should have knocked.”

Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “It’s your apartment, too. We should have kept it in our room.” He meets Brendon’s eyes and they both flush, looking away. “Come in,” he mumbles, backing into the apartment and going to his bedroom. 

Brendon stands next to the couch and stares down at it, unsure if he should just sit on it. His face feels hot when he thinks about what Ryan and Spencer were just doing on it. 

\---

Brendon feels stir-crazy in the apartment, so he grabs his phone, hollers that he’s going out in the direction of Ryan and Spencer’s room and heads off towards Jon’s apartment. 

Jon grins at him as soon as he opens the door. “Hey, little buddy!” he says, pulling Brendon into a hug as he’s taking his ears and tail out. Brendon melts into the embrace. “What’s up?” Jon asks, pulling away and rubbing Brendon’s ear. “Where are your shadows?” he grins. 

“Probably having really noisy sex now that I’m gone,” Brendon says, trying not to sound too bitter as he follows Jon into the apartment. Dylan jumps into his lap and starts purring as soon as Brendon sits down on the couch, while Clover curls around his feet. “Hey, Tom,” he says, waving at Tom, drinking on the floor. Tom salutes him with his beer bottle. 

Jon quirks a brow at him. “Whoa there, Bden. Is that a little hostility I hear? Trouble in paradise?” He sounds stoned and Brendon wishes he’d been there for that. 

“Shut up,” Brendon mumbles, petting Clover with his toes. She rumbles happily at him. “Anyways,” he says when Jon comes back with beers for them. “Everything’s fine. I was just going crazy in there.” 

Tom nods sagely. “I hear you. I haven’t gotten laid in ages, either.” 

Brendon chokes on his beer. “It’s not that!” he shouts, flushing hotly. 

“Oh, of course not,” Jon says, grinning. 

“You guys suck,” Brendon mumbles into his drink. 

Several beers later, Brendon is drunk enough to say, “It’s just not fair.” 

Jon shoots an amused look at Tom. “What’s not fair, little buddy?” he asks. 

“S’not fair that Spencer and Ryan get angry with anybody who shows any interest in me, but then they touch me and get me all frustrated.” 

Jon and Tom both start laughing loudly. 

“Hey,” Brendon mumbles, glaring. “Hey, I’m in pain here, you guys. Stop laughing,” he whines. 

“Oh man,” Jon says, trying to tame his chuckles. 

“Should we tell him?” he asks Tom. 

Tom studies Brendon over the rim of his beer. “Sure, dude,” he says finally. 

Brendon flails, almost getting beer on Dylan, who scampers off the couch. “Tell me what?” he asks. 

“Dude,” Jon starts. “Dude, Ryan and Spencer have wanted in your pants since like, the day they met you.” 

“What?” Brendon asks, stunned. “Seriously?” he feels way too sober for this conversation, all of a sudden. 

“Yeah, dude,” Tom says. “Everyone pretty much made fun of them for like, ever. Because who really gets into gay threesomes?” 

Brendon stands up suddenly, surprising Jon and Tom. “I have to go,” he says. 

Frowning, Jon asks, “You sure?” 

“Yeah,” Brendon says, going to the door to get his stuff. “Thanks, guys,” he mumbles as he walks out. He has a lot to think about. 

\---

Brendon doesn’t actually confront Ryan and Spencer about it for another few weeks.

There just hasn’t been a really good time to—things have been hectic at work and Ryan gets news about his dad being sick. Brendon doesn’t have it in him to spring something on them when Ryan is so obviously upset. 

He doesn’t mind waiting to ask, actually. It gives him time to watch Spencer and Ryan, watch the way they act around him and other people. He notices that they really hate it whenever Brendon hangs all over other people, or if other people hang all over him. They glare and give bitchy looks until whoever it is backs off. They also let their touches linger a little too long, when it comes to Brendon. He doesn’t really know what to make of it, except now that Jon’s told him their intentions; it’s pretty clear what they want. 

For a while now, Brendon’s known he’s gay. He didn’t really think about it, when he was living with his parents—the threat of being found out as an ML outweighed thinking about dating of any kind—and when he was on his own, he didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with anything other than work and bills. Now that he’s not so busy, Brendon has a lot of time to think about it. 

Aesthetically, Ryan and Spencer are pretty different from one another. Personality-wise, as well. They don’t fit a certain type that Brendon goes for—he doesn’t think he really has one other than “pretty” and “nice”—but he can’t stop thinking about them. He looks at other people, of course, but he just ends up comparing them to Ryan and Spencer. 

He used to always put them in this box he labeled off-limits, but now, with what he knows…He’s just not sure what he should do with it. 

Finally, a few days after Ryan gets the call that his dad is doing alright again, Brendon just asks. 

“Are you two attracted to me?” He doesn’t really know where the forwardness is coming from, but he has to get it out there. 

Ryan and Spencer both freeze in place, eyes going wide. They don’t even look at each other to have a silent eyebrow conversation like they usually do. 

“Um. What?” Spencer asks, voice at a weird lilt. 

Brendon frowns. “Are you two attracted to me,” he repeats. “Jon said that you wanted into my pants, and that pretty much everyone knew about it but me.” 

“Fucking Jon,” Ryan curses, looking away. “Brendon,” he says, biting his lip. “It’s not just…We want in your pants, yeah, but it’s not just that.” 

“What do you mean?” Brendon asks. 

Spencer sighs and pushes his fingers through his hair. “I mean, yeah, it was like that, when we first met you, but then we got to know you, and you’re just. You’re you,” he says, waving his hand in the air. 

Brows furrowed, Brendon asks, “What does that even mean?” 

“It means we pretty much love you,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes and finally looking at Brendon. “And have been for a while. I mean, we haven’t been really subtle about it, but you never really showed any interest back, so we never tried anything.” 

“Oh,” Brendon says stupidly, sitting back in his seat. “Well.” 

“Well?” Spencer asks. 

Brendon smiles awkwardly. “Well, I am interested? But I mean, how does this even work? You two are together, and I’m pretty sure people don’t actually have two partners, outside of the movies.” 

Ryan and Spencer have a silent conversation via eyebrows before Ryan says, “It could work, I think. I mean, we could figure it out. If you wanted to, I mean.” Ryan sounds nervous.

Brendon has never heard him sound anything other than sure since he’s met him. 

“Um,” Brendon says, looking down at his lap. “I think I’d like to try?” 

When he looks up, Ryan and Spencer are both grinning at him.

\---

They don’t jump immediately into being a “them”. Brendon wants to take it slowly—he’s never dated anyone, let alone gotten into a threesome with two boys he happened to meet on the street and become best friends with. It’s weird, and it takes a while to get used to the way Ryan and Spencer look at him, sometimes. 

Not a lot changes; they still hold hands and cuddle on the couch when they watch television, but now Ryan or Spencer will lean in and kiss him chastely, or squeeze his ass when he passes them in the apartment. 

Brendon takes the time he’s at work to think a lot about it. He doesn’t ask Jenna, even though he thinks she would be understanding and would try her hardest to help him, but it’s tempting. 

The first time they go to Jon’s after they decide to try being together, Patrick takes one good look at them and then starts to laugh. Brendon flushes hotly and fidgets while Jon pesters Patrick to let him in on the joke. Spencer takes his hand and Jon sees and his eyebrows jump up. 

“Bden, you sly little dog!” he says, grinning. 

Ryan rolls his eyes, and it’s the only thing anyone ever says about the situation. It’s a whole hell of a lot less awkward than Brendon though it might be. 

\---

Patrick calls his cell phone when he’s on his lunch break. Brendon picks it up, curious as to what he wants—Patrick rarely calls directly, since he seems to have some sort of vendetta against phones. 

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks, kicking his shoes against the floor. Spencer would be horrified. 

“Hey, so, I was thinking,” Patrick says, sounding sort of excited. “My mom got really rich off of interviews and a documentary of me when I was a kid, right?” he asks. 

Frowning, Brendon nods. “Yeah? I guess?” 

“Well I think you should do a few of your own, that way you wouldn’t have to work at the Smoothie Hut anymore, and you’d be pretty set for life. You also wouldn’t have to hide anymore,” Patrick says in a rush. 

Brendon pauses, sort of stunned. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. “Um. What?” 

He can almost see Patrick nodding. “Yeah, I mean, I talked to my mom about it? And she said that she could get in contact with some good people for you, and she could make sure you don’t get screwed over. She’s good at this sort of thing.” 

Patricia was a good woman—Brendon had met her a few times, and she always gets a teary look in her eyes when she sees him. It’s weird, but sort of nice as well. “You. She would really do that for me? You mean that?” he asks, voice hoarse. 

“Yeah, yes. She would, we would, Brendon,” Patrick says quickly. “You could come over here and talk to her about it and she could call some people and we could get this done for you.” He sounds excited. 

Brendon nods and then realizes Patrick can’t see him. “Um. Yeah. I mean, that sounds great. I really wouldn’t have to work here anymore?” he whispers. 

“Not if you’re smart, like mom was. We’re still getting money from some stuff she did when I was a kid. I mean, you wouldn’t be rich, but you wouldn’t have to work at the Hut anymore.” 

“Jesus,” Brendon whispers, putting his hand to his mouth. He can’t even think about what he would do if he wasn’t working. He doesn’t even know if anyone will want to interview him. And what if his parents see? It could go so badly. “Yeah. Let’s do this.” 

“Great,” Patrick says. “Come over this afternoon, and we’ll talk about it, okay?” 

“Okay,” Brendon says.

\---

Brendon spends a good few hours at Patrick’s mom’s house, talking to her about what he should do, who he should offer the interviews to, how he can invest the money. She offers to contact people about it, and Brendon happily agrees. He has no idea what he’s doing, but it feels right. He wants people to finally know. He doesn’t want to ever have to hide again.

Besides, all the important people already know—what’s a few more? 

Patricia tells him she’ll call him as soon as she gets the final plans together, and Brendon leaves after giving her and Patrick bone-crushing hugs. Or, as bone crushing as he can give.

The Stumps have done so much for him, even though they didn’t have to, and he doesn’t know how he could ever repay them. Patrick waves him off and tells him not to worry about it, but Brendon knows he’s going to do something for them, somehow. 

He hands his two weeks’ notice in at work the next day. 

\---

Spencer is concerned as soon as he hears Brendon’s plans, but when he talks to Patricia on the phone, he calms down. Ryan just smiles at him. 

“You’ll let me dress you and do your makeup and hair, right?” he asks. 

Nodding, Brendon says, “Sure, of course. Whatever you want to do, Ryan.” He beams. 

Ryan and Spencer give him one of those new looks, full of fondness and what he now knows is love, and take him out for dinner.

\---

Brendon is grateful that Ryan and Spencer have respected his desire to take things slow, but he’s also delighted when they actually start going from heavy petting to full on sex, because the sex is pretty good. 

The sex is pretty fucking fantastic. 

\---

Patricia gets back to him and the set a date for when he’s going to give the interview. The people that are doing it are from the same company that filmed Patrick when he was little, so Brendon trusts them to handle his life’s secret delicately. 

They film and tell Brendon when the broadcast date is, and Brendon spends the two weeks before airtime nervous as hell, unsure how people are going to react to him. 

“It’ll be okay,” Spencer says, wrapping his arms around Brendon’s waist. He’s eighteen, now, and so much more built than he used to be, when Brendon first met him. He’s also a handful of inches taller than Brendon, and he has to bend to put his chin on Brendon’s shoulder. It’s ridiculous. 

“Of course it will, it’s Brendon,” Ryan says lazily, lounging on the couch. Time hasn’t really changed him much, except for his height and the fact that he doesn’t dress like a cabaret hobo anymore. 

Brendon knows he’s changed, too, from the kid he used to be, when he first ran away. It’s not just in height or weight or the style of his hair—so much better now that he knows Ryan. It’s because he finally found people who love him for who he is and he’s finally happy. It’s a nice feeling. 

“Let’s go out tomorrow,” he says suddenly, leaning into Spencer’s embrace. “Everyone. Let’s go take over that pizza place Jon loves or something. I want to go out before that thing airs, I want people to see me before then.” 

Ryan quirks a brow, and Spencer squeezes his waist. “You sure?” Spencer asks.

Brendon nods. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

\---

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Ryan asks, wrapping his birthday scarf around his neck. He looks over at where Spencer is holding Brendon on the couch. 

Brendon knows it’s an out; he doesn’t have to do this. He shakes his head. “No, yeah, I’m sure I…I want people to know.” He stands up and pulls his skinny jeans up higher on his hips. “You ready yet?” Ryan shares a look with Spencer over Brendon’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

When they get to the street, Spencer and Ryan both take one of Brendon’s hands. Now, he knows what the gesture means, and he doesn’t even mind the stares. 

They meet up with Patrick and Jon and Pete near Brendon’s old Smoothie Hut and Patrick grins at Brendon so wide. 

“Hey,” he says, and Brendon can see people across the street pause to watch. 

Brendon ducks his head, ears twitching, but grins up at Patrick, just as wide. “Hey. We going over to Bill’s? Or are they meeting us there?” he asks, going for casual. 

“They’re gonna meet us,” Patrick says and steps up to Brendon’s side. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says softly. 

Flushing, Brendon nods. Spencer lets go of his hand and Patrick steps into place as they walk, Ryan still on Brendon’s other side. As they walk, more people stop and stare, at him, his ears and tail, and Brendon can even see some cameras flashing. 

He takes a deep breath and startles when Patrick’s tale wraps around his own, hanging between them. Brendon sends him a smile but Patrick is looking indifferently towards the cameras. 

Ryan squeezes his hand and Spencer presses his hand to his lower back and Brendon grins wide enough for the whole world to see.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was taken off the [ Big God Damn Masterlist](https://fobfics.tumblr.com/post/34177428707/okubyokitsunes-big-goddamn-masterlistpdf/) you can use that link to download the pdf of almost 500 pages of bandom fic.


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